


Something You Can't Replace

by merlenhiver



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: Still Have Powers, Angst, Drama, HIV/AIDS, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutant Rights, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-05-27 18:06:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6294460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merlenhiver/pseuds/merlenhiver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles is doing the best he can to juggle running the school, campaigning for mutant rights and coping with being positive. He's doing fine. And if he has stopped dating, what's the big deal? He doesn't have time for a boyfriend anyway. </p><p>Erik came to New York for the sole reason of aiding Shaw in his campaign to be elected Senator. He didn't expect to fall in love along the way, much less with an idealistic integrationist who's determined to see the good in <i>everyone</i>. (Even him.)</p><p>Their clashing ideologies, however, are not the only thing threatening to tear them apart. As election day looms nearer, Charles and Erik are caught in a whirlwind of controversies, conspiracies and health crises that will put their relationship to the ultimate test...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. If You Never Try, You'll Never Know

**Author's Note:**

> In case you haven’t read the tags, this is an HIV fic (among other things). I’ve done my best to treat the subject with the respect it deserves while still keeping the story entertaining (and hope I’ve succeeded on both counts!). 
> 
> Regardless of the content, I promise there will be **no major character death** in this fic. It’s about coping, not dying. 
> 
> Inspired, above all, by [this Merthur fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/113731) and [this wonderful fanart](http://chessandmagnets.tumblr.com/tagged/xmfc-modern-au). The story and chapter titles are taken from Coldplay’s _Fix You_ , my personal angsty evergreen. :)
> 
> Many thanks to [JayEz](http://archiveofourown.org/users/JayEz/pseuds/JayEz) for giving this chapter a thorough read-through. <3 I’m still in need of a native speaker beta, so if you feel inclined, please let me know in the comments below or [contact me on tumblr!](http://merlenhiver.tumblr.com/)

“So how did you react when you heard that Sebastian Shaw is actually going to run for senate?”

“Utter disbelief,” Charles says, shaking his head in emphasis. “Shaw has never been a favorite with the general population. He’s a mutant, he’s proposing radical change towards pro-mutant legislation — something, I might add, that Congress has been opposing for years. He must know he doesn’t stand a chance.”

“Yet his goals are almost identical with what you’ve been working towards these past years, aren’t they, Professor Xavier?” Matt Lauer, the show host, asks. “So will he have your vote at least?”

Charles shifts in his chair. The spotlight is blinding and he’s itching to wipe the sweat off his brow. “Mr. Shaw’s goals may seem compatible with mine on the surface,” Charles says, choosing his words carefully, “but I seriously doubt whether that compatibility would survive closer inspection.”

“So no love lost between you two, then?”

“It’s not a matter of sympathy. Sebastian Shaw has proven that he isn’t above resorting to extreme measures to get what he wants. I don’t believe the ends justify the means.”

“You’re alluding to his time spent in Germany.”                                                           

Charles nods. “They say that Shaw instigated a mob that escalated a peaceful anti-mutant protest. I can’t condone violence, even if it’s to fight for the right cause.”

“Those allegations were never definitively proven, though,” Lauer objects.

“I prefer to err on the side of caution.”

Lauer straightens his glasses before speaking again. “Returning to the upcoming elections, there have been many voices over the years clamoring for _you_ to throw your hat into the ring.”

“That has never been a consideration of mine,” Charles replies. “I’m not a politician; I’m a teacher first and foremost. I believe in changing peoples’ minds through education. Informing the public about mutant issues, establishing trust, building bridges between mutants and humans, those are my primary goals. That’s what the Xavier School stands for.”

“Admirable goals, as I’m sure many of our viewers would agree.” Lauer turns away from Charles and towards the camera. “Ladies and gentlemen, if you wish to support the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters, or send your own child there, contact xmansion@westchester.org. We’ll be back after a short break for more coverage on the upcoming primaries.”

“Cut!” someone yells and Charles lets his shoulders sag in relief.

“That was great Charles, thank you,” Lauer says and shakes his hand.

“A pleasure as always,” Charles says, rising from his chair and buttoning his suit jacket. He can’t wait to get home and change into something more comfortable. It’s been a long day.

The wardrobe backstage is located at the end of a narrow corridor. Charles slips through the door, only intending to grab his things before heading out to his car, when a familiar figure standing in the middle of the room makes him stop short.

“Erik!” Charles breathes out, his heart pounding in surprise. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I’m doing an interview on Shaw’s campaign for the show,” Erik says, giving Charles a leisurely once-over. Charles can feel his cheeks heat up at the scrutiny.

“Well, I was on my way out,” Charles says, emerging from his stupor and heading for the dresser. “Don’t let me disturb you.”

“You never disturb me,” Erik says, mouth curling into a smirk. “We still have a game to finish, you know.”

Charles lets out a breath he hopes doesn’t sound as shaky as it feels. “Some other time maybe.”

“I’m free tonight.”

“Erik…” Charles sighs, straightening as he does. “We’ve been through this.”

“Through what exactly?”

“Don’t be obtuse.” Charles starts collecting the few things he brought and stuffs them into his satchel, more to avoid looking at Erik than anything else.

“What I recall is a great night which you enjoyed just as much as I did,” Erik insists. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

He wasn’t, of course. Charles only has to shut his eyes to remember the electric current running between them as they leaned over the chess board, close enough to touch; the scotch burning down his throat, just the right amount of pleasure-pain; and the dazzling wonder of Erik’s mind, all sharp edges and passion with a hint of darkness underneath.

Charles would have loved nothing more than to give in to the moment and succumb to his own desire for this stranger who came out of nowhere and was a damn nuisance to argue with, yet who got under his skin more than anyone had in years.

Charles swallows, still not daring to look at Erik. “I have to go.”

“I won’t stop asking you out.”

Charles lets out a bitter snort. “Don’t you ever give up?”

“Never,” Erik says and Charles catches a glimpse of a smile that is all teeth.

For a moment, he can’t look away. Erik’s smile fades when their eyes lock across the room and Charles can feel the heat pooling in his groin, a flash of want that makes his cock twitch in his pants. Erik looks just as gorgeous now as he did that fateful night two weeks ago, when they were introduced at the Mutant Issues Awareness Summit and ended up talking for hours. The chiseled chest, the burning eyes, the rumbling voice that sends shivers down Charles’ spine, the sheer _intensity_ of the man wherever he goes… the way he looks at Charles as though somehow, he’s the salvation he has been secretly seeking...

At that precise moment, the alarm on Charles’ smartphone goes off.

It actually makes Charles jump a little, so caught up was he in the moment. He breaks the eye contact and turns away from Erik, slinging the satchel over his shoulder.

“Goodbye, Erik.”

Charles doesn’t look back as he all but flees from the room, taking a left, then a right turn to exit the studio. Only when he has reached the parking lot does he slow down, yet he can’t keep himself from looking over his shoulder to check if he’s being followed. There’s no one there, and Charles curses himself for that tiny part inside of him that actually feels disappointed.

He reaches his car and lets himself sag against it. His hands are shaking as he rummages in the satchel for his pillbox and water bottle. He drops the green pill into his palm and swallows it down, followed by a few generous gulps.

_There. This is the reality. Get your head out of the gutter._

Willing the trembling in his limbs to stop, Charles climbs into the car and drives off.

What he can’t quite shake is the tingling of his skin where he can still feel the remnants of Erik’s gaze.

*~*~*

The school is bustling with activity when Charles arrives. Students are milling about the entrance hall, clutching books and chatting before rushing to their next class. Sean and Alex walk up to Charles as soon as he’s in their sight and Charles is treated to an elaborate tale of how a boy they dubbed Rain Man managed to flood an entire classroom, and that no one should pester him again, ever.

Charles has yet to regret making the two teachers, but sometimes they do try his patience.

Once Sean and Alex have released him, Charles heads straight for the kitchen. A cup of tea and a couple of biscuits sound like a marvelous idea after hours spent in the hot spotlights of the studio.

On his way, he passes one of the newest additions to the school, a shy, mousy girl capable of matching her skin to the immediate environment. At present, Charles can barely make out her silhouette, as she has taken on the color and texture of the wall paneling she’s passing by.  

The girl is still too skittish to do more than nod at him, so Charles leaves her be. Best not overwhelm her until she’s more settled in.

When he reaches the kitchen, Charles discovers to his surprise that Moira is there, sitting in the most comfortable chair with her feet dangling over the armrest. The sight is so unfamiliar that Charles hovers in the door frame, marveling at the picture.

When Moira spots him, her face morphs into a frown. “What? Is there something wrong?”

“No, it’s just… You, relaxing. In the kitchen. During work hours. Not a sight I’m much familiar with.”

“I’m running a series of tests in the lab and the results are going to take another hour to complete. Hank is busy with his own research, so I thought I’d hang out here.”

“Want some tea?” Charles asks, switching the kettle on.

“I’d love some.”

“So how’s it going?”

Moira sighs, putting down the iPad she was perusing when he came in. “To be honest, I’m still trying to figure out the most basic principles of Logan’s mutation. His cell structure is a maze, I haven’t seen anything like it before.” She looks sideways at Charles and adds, quietly. “It’s going to be a while before we can get some answers.”

“I’m sure you’re doing the best you can.”

Moira bites her lips as though she’d like to disagree, but changes the subject instead. “It would be great if we could use Cerebro to broaden our selection of samples.”

“Sure. Just tell me when. I have a meeting with the mayor tomorrow, but I’ll be back here around three.”

“You don’t have to, you know.”

“It’s okay. I want to.”

Charles doesn’t much like using Cerebro these days. Ever since he went on the cocktail, the headaches that always come with plugging himself into the machine have evolved into fully-grown migraines. Probably some kind of interaction between the drugs and his then amplified telepathy. But it can’t be helped. Cerebro is too valuable a resource to pass up just because of a few hours of discomfort on his part.

“So how was it at the studio?” Moira asks as he hands her a mug.

Charles cringes, his thoughts jumping to the awkward conversation with Erik before he collects himself. “It was good. Fair questions, not a lot of bias. And of course everyone wants to talk about Shaw running for Senate these days.”

“Uh-huh,” Moira says, studying him through narrowed eyes.

“What?”

“Did something happen while you were there?”

“Why’d you say that?”

“Call it a hunch.”

Charles sighs. As always, there’s no evading Moira’s uncanny ability to gauge his every mood. Most of the time, Charles is grateful for her gift – it’s one of the reasons why they have been friends for almost a decade. Sometimes though, it’s a pain in the ass.

“I ran into Erik at the studio,” he says, admitting defeat.

Moira’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh.”

“And before you ask: no, we’re not going to see each other again.”

“Pity. Why not?”

“You know why.”

“I know why you _think_ you shouldn’t see him again,” Moira corrects him, blowing her tea.

“Same difference. I’m not going to date someone who’s negative. Been there, done that. Got the scars to prove it.”

“How do you even know Erik’s negative?”

“He is. Trust me, I can tell.”

“So you would date him if he was positive?”

Charles can’t help squirming a little under Moira’s scrutiny. He feels like one of her cell samples, pinned under a microscope. 

“I don’t know,” he finally says.

“I do. You haven’t been on a date for more than a year. With any guy, regardless of their status.”

“Are you keeping tabs on my love life?”

“Somebody has to.” Moira sits up, turning somber eyes at him. “Look, Charles, I know that it can be challenging, this whole post-diagnosis dating thing. I get that. But you deserve to be happy just like the next man. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t go out there and meet people.”

Charles considers her words, but then shakes his head. “I’m too busy.”

“There’s more to life than work, you know.”

That grabs Charles’ attention. Moira is usually the one Charles has to bodily drag out of her own lab in order for her to eat or sleep, let alone have any sort of private life. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

Moira blushes, actually _blushes_ , an endearing hue of pink coloring her cheeks.

“Have you been holding out on me?” Charles teases, jumping at the chance for a change of subject.

“It’s nothing,” Moira says, lowering her lashes and pausing before adding: “Yet.”

“I knew it! Who is it?”

“I’m not telling, it’s still too…new.”

“Fine, keep your secrets. But I’ll be watching you, MacTaggert.”

Moira beams fondly at him. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

*~*~*

Banishing all thoughts of Erik from his mind turns out to be more difficult than Charles imagined – especially when said man materializes in the entrance hall only three days later.

Charles is on the way to his study after his monthly check-up with Hank. His breath hitches when he detects Erik lingering at the top of the stairs. He’s wearing a black turtleneck that hugs his chest like a second skin and is just taking off his sunglasses when he spots Charles coming towards him. The shark smile makes an appearance again.

“Charles! Fancy running into you here.”

“It can’t come as much of a surprise since this is, as you well know, _my school_.”

Erik shrugs, remaining nonchalant. “You could have had an engagement.”

“What do you want?”

Charles winces. That came out harsher than he intended.

If Erik is fazed, he doesn’t let it show. “I’m here to inquire about enrolling a student at your school. A mutant.”

That piques Charles’ interest. “Does that mutant have a name?”

“Angel. Angel Salvadore.”

“What’s her gift?”

“She can fly. Among other things.”

Charles nods, already planning ahead. “We’ve got two other avian mutants staying here at the moment. She’d fit right in. How do you know her?”

“She’s…a friend of a friend.”

“Is that friend’s name Shaw?”

“Does it matter?”

Charles looks away, chastened. “No, of course not. She’s welcome here regardless of her connections.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

There is a loaded silence which Charles decides to break before it turns awkward.

“Why don’t you come with me and I can show you which forms to fill out?”

Charles leads Erik into his study, a cozy room adjacent to the entrance hall that smells of leather and books. Of all the many rooms in his family’s mansion, it’s the one Charles feels most at home in.

“This will only take a minute.”

Charles walks over to a chest of drawers, opening one at random and rummaging around for the admission forms. He’s never been the most organized of people when it comes to paperwork. Moira keeps telling him that he should hire a secretary for the school, but so far, he hasn’t gotten around to it.

Erik, meanwhile, is hovering in the background, barely making a sound. Not for the first time Charles wonders what kind of job Erik was working before joining Shaw’s team six months ago. The man is almost preternaturally stealthy. 

“Hang on,” Charles says, his back still to Erik, while he opens another drawer. This one’s filled to the brim with staples. When the heck did he order those?

“I meant what I said.”

Erik’s voice barely registers with Charles as he continues his search for the elusive forms. “Sorry, what?”

“I’m going to keep asking you out.”

Charles freezes. Abandoning his quest, he straightens and turns to face Erik.

“You really need to learn how to take no for an answer,” he says slowly.

Erik takes a step towards him. “Then maybe you should make more of an effort to convince me.”

Charles shakes his head. “What else can I say other than ‘I won’t go out with you’?”

“You see, there’s the problem,” Erik says, weighing his head. “You say the words, but that’s not all I hear. It’s like you’re of two minds and can’t decide which side of the fence to come down on.”

“I have decided. I’m not dating you.”

Erik shrugs, smirking. “I wouldn’t say no to a casual fuck either.”

“That’s even less of an option.”

Erik’s smirk widens. “You don’t have to act coy with me. I know for a fact that you’re no blushing virgin. You’ve been around the block a few times, from what I’ve heard.”

Charles can actually feel the color draining from his face. For a minute, he can’t remember how to breathe.

Erik seems to realize what he just said, because he quickly adds: “That came out wrong. I didn’t mean to imply –”

“Get out.”

“Let me just –”

“I said, _get out_!” Charles yells.

For a moment, Erik looks shocked at his outburst, but he soon recovers. Contrition evident in every line of the face, he nods at Charles and leaves the room in a few long strides.

Charles closes his eyes and tries to blot out the familiar wave of self-loathing welling up in his gut.

*~*~*

The next morning, Charles has calmed down enough to realize that he might have overreacted.

True, it was a careless, borderline derogative thing to say, but judging by Erik’s response, it was meant more as a twisted sort of compliment than an insult. So while it may not have been in good taste, it was by no means the condescending remark Charles had made it out to be.

The problem is: Erik hit a nerve. Not just any nerve, but Charles’s number one foolproof sore spot. And as much as he tries to rationalize it, it still stings to have heard those words from Erik of all people, the man he might actually have a thing for.

Charles tries to push the hurt away all day long. He works on an open letter to the _New York Times_ on the new Mutant Registration Act for a couple of hours, then joins Moira and Hank in the lab with Cerebro. Even though he’s more than a little preoccupied, they manage to locate two new mutants who fit their criteria. The rest of the day is a blur of pain and nausea, so Charles sleeps it off in his bedroom with the curtains drawn shut.

He has recovered sufficiently at noon on Saturday to emerge from under the covers and fix himself some lunch. The school is always quieter on weekends, as many of the students are spending time away from the mansion. Charles uses the relative peace to fire up his laptop and catch up on some reading until late afternoon before donning his second-best tux and calling a cab.

Moira had actually offered to accompany him to this year’s _Homes for Mutants_ charity gala, but bailed out at the last minute. Charles doesn’t much mind going there alone. He’s been to enough fundraisers to be able to get through them in his sleep. It’s all about smiling at the right instant, shaking the right pairs of hands, and clapping at the end of speeches. Child’s play.

Charles only realizes how much he underestimated the challenges tonight would bring when he spots Raven in the crowd.

She would be hard to miss at any gathering. Her blue form proudly on display, she cuts a striking figure moving among the patrons, though what she is doing here in the first place escapes Charles. He can make out more than a couple of the humans present openly staring at her, a mixture of curiosity and revulsion on their faces. Part of him itches to call them out on it, but he knows that Raven is more than capable of taking care of herself. At any rate, his interference wouldn’t be welcome.

He walks over to the bar and orders a whiskey on the rocks. If he and Raven are going to talk tonight – and he’s not going to let her leave until they do – he needs to build up his courage.

Charles is aware of Erik’s presence before he can see him, the other man’s mind already achingly familiar after the few times they’ve met.

“Starting a little early, aren’t you?” Erik asks from behind.

Charles temper flares up, and he’s on the verge of dishing out a scathing retort when he senses the amusement behind Erik’s words. Oh. He was joking.

Erik sits down next to Charles at the bar and orders a beer for himself.

“How come we haven’t run into each other in six months and suddenly, you’re _everywhere_?” Charles asks, sounding a little whiny even to his own ears.

Erik shrugs. “Shaw is presenting the Mutant Charity Award this year. It would have been impolite not to attend.”

Charles risks a sidelong glance at Erik. He looks even more handsome in a tailored tux than he does in leather and slacks, yet his expression is grave. With a pang Charles remembers their argument at the school and hopes Erik won’t bring it up.

Of course, that’s when Erik decides to say: “Charles, about the other day –”

“Save it. I don’t need to hear it.”

“I owe you an apology.”

“You’re forgiven. Now can we please stop talking about this?”

But Erik is as stubborn about this as he is about everything that involves Charles, apparently.

“I hurt you. It was never my intention to accuse you of… How you conduct your private life is none of my business.”

“You’re right. It’s not.”

“I’m sorry.”

Charles dares to meet Erik’s eyes, but the look in them is so devastatingly genuine that he can’t bear it for long. He takes a sip of his drink instead and latches onto the first thing that comes to mind.

“You didn’t bring a chessboard by any chance, did you? We could finish our game.”

A smile crinkles the corners of Erik’s mouth as his face relaxes. “No. I’m afraid we’ll have to reschedule.”

Charles smiles tentatively back. “Too bad.”

After a pause, Erik adds: “I was serious about Angel enrolling at your school.”

Charles’ eyebrows shoot up. That he did not expect.

“You were? And what does your employer have to say about that?”

“Why don’t you ask him yourself, Professor Xavier?”

Charles whips around to find himself face to face with none other than Sebastian Shaw, an oily smile plastered on his face and a skinny blonde dangling from his arm.

After staring at each other in silence for a long moment, Shaw addresses Erik.

“Aren’t you going to introduce us? You two seem to be rather well-acquainted.”

Erik makes a face as though he bit into something sour, but then he obliges.

“Sebastian, Charles Xavier. Charles, meet Sebastian Shaw and his associate, Emma Frost.”

“A pleasure,” Emma says tonelessly, allowing Charles to shake her hand. Shaw, Charles notices, doesn’t extend him the same courtesy.

“I’ve been following you in the press, of course,” Shaw says, his glittering eyes never leaving Charles’ face.

“Likewise,” Charles responds. For some reason, Charles can’t seem to get a proper read on the man. While he isn’t in the habit of prying into the thoughts of every person he chances upon, he usually gets an impression of someone’s mind when he first meets them. But with Shaw, it’s different. It’s like he’s looking at the man through a prism.

“So, _Charles_ ,” Shaw drawls, abandoning the formal address. “Tell me what you make of Senator Kelly’s Mutant Registration Bill passing the House last week.”

“It’s a heavy setback,” Charles says, deciding to play along. “But not unexpected. Preventing the bill from getting ratified was always going to be an uphill battle.”

“And what are you planning to do about it? Assuming you’re as opposed to the idea as your fellow mutants are.”

“The only thing I can do: I’m going to speak out against it, let my voice be heard. I’m currently drafting an open letter to the _New York Times_ , reminding them that mutants have as much of a basic right to privacy as humans do.”

“And what do you think that is going to accomplish?”

Charles takes care to hold Shaw’s steely gaze. “It will raise awareness, and hopefully make some of the senators rethink their stance on mutant registration.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Then I’m going to have to accept that the bill will become law and deal with the new situation – as is customary in any democratic society,” Charles can’t resist adding.

Shaw’s smile broadens. “How perfectly mundane. It’s men like you, Charles, who threaten the survival of our species more than anyone else: mutants who try to assimilate into a society that has long been rendered obsolete. What will it take to make you see that these integrationist phrases you’re spouting seriously endanger our people?”

“That’s enough,” Erik growls beside him. Charles hadn’t even realized he’d gotten up.

“No, Erik, it’s all right.” Charles holds up a hand to stop him, his eyes fixed on Shaw. “If it weren’t for people like you, Mr. Shaw, society would already be far more accepting of mutants than it is today. We have to set an example. Every time we fail to show ourselves at our best, humanity loses faith and fears us instead. We have only ourselves to blame if we’re met with distrust.”

“ _Records show, without exception, that the arrival of the mutated human species in any region was followed by the immediate extinction of their less-evolved kin_ ,” Shaw quotes. “Isn’t that what you wrote in your thesis, Charles?”

For a moment, Charles is taken aback. “I did. But that doesn’t mean that we can’t make a different choice. We have a conscience.”

Frost suddenly addresses Shaw in hushed tones: “The ceremony is about to start. The hostess is signaling you.”

“Well, this has been very enlightening,” Shaw says, squaring his shoulders and straightening his bow tie. “But I’m afraid duty calls. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Charles.”

“Shaw, Miss Frost.” Charles nods to them in greeting.  

“Erik, are you coming?”

Erik, who hasn’t moved from his spot at Charles’ side, hesitates for a moment as if torn, but then he follows Shaw and Frost towards the podium.

More rattled than he wants to let on, Charles empties his drink and gets up, giving the gathering crowd a wide berth. There’s a balcony at the far side of the room, and Charles decides a little fresh air will do him good after being subjected to Shaw’s poisonous propaganda.

The balcony is nearly empty when Charles steps outside. Only a few people linger, fingering their champagne flutes and holding mellow conversations.

Charles walks towards the balustrade and breathes in the cold night air. As much as he hates to admit it, Shaw does have a point. Writing letters and delivering speeches isn’t going to change the political landscape. The MRA is going to pass the Senate, and there’s not a damn thing Charles can do to stop it. And once registration for mutants has become mandatory, who’s to say it’s going to end there? Charles has never been a glass-half-empty kind of guy, preferring to cultivate a healthy sense of optimism, but even he has his doubts whether the human government wouldn’t exploit the fact that they’d be able to keep tabs on every mutant currently living in the U.S.  

Maybe Shaw is right. Maybe, ultimately, a hostile confrontation is inevitable.

The thought alone makes him feel ill.

“Charles?”

He turns to find Raven advancing towards him, a concerned look on her face. “Are you okay?” She stops a fair distance away.

“I’m fine,” Charles hastens to say, unwilling to share his gloomy thoughts. Instead he puts on a smile that quickly turns genuine at the sight of her. He’s still not entirely comfortable with her not wearing any clothes, but that’s not what matters right now.

“You look good,” he says, meaning it. When Raven doesn’t react, he adds: “You could have told me you’d be in town. We could have gotten together.”

Raven grimaces. “Let’s not pretend as if the past year didn’t happen.”

“You mean your decision to abandon all reason, leave home, and embark on a solitary manhunt?”

Charles could have kicked himself as soon as the words left his mouth. _Very diplomatic, Charles_.

“For your information, that ‘unreasonable’ manhunt has already yielded results. Or haven’t you been following the news lately?”

“I have. And I’ve also read between the lines. You must have broken into half a dozen facilities to get the information you provided.”

“So?”

“ _So_? This sort of thing is illegal, Raven. What if you got caught? How is humankind ever going to trust mutants if the best of us are scheming behind their backs?”

“I don’t give a shit what the humans think of me – it’s our kind that I’m worried about! The evidence suggests that there is a secret weapons project in the works, that Trask is experimenting on mutants in order to improve his technology. He needs to be stopped! And if the government chooses to turn a blind eye, then somebody else has to act.”

Charles wipes a weary hand across his face. They keep going in circles, throwing argument after argument at each other without ever reaching common ground.

Raven seems to have sensed his resignation, for she falls silent. Her voice has softened when she asks: “How have you been, Charles?”

Charles knows immediately what she’s referring to, and relents to the change of subject. “I’m doing okay. My T-cells are steady at 600, and my viral load is undetectable.”

“Good, that’s…good. I’m glad.”

Charles has no difficulty believing her. Whatever else is going on between them, he knows that Raven is genuinely concerned for his well-being. It took her a long time to adjust after he was diagnosed.

“We miss you back home,” he says. “Hank, Sean, Alex… It’s not the same without you.”

Raven squirms and avoids his gaze. Charles casts around for something to say, anything to stop Raven from leaving again, but his mind is blank.

Sudden applause from inside breaks the silence between them. The award ceremony seems to have come to an end. Within moments, people are flooding the balcony again, chatting amicably and discussing Shaw’s presentation speech, which apparently included some witty remarks about his candidacy.

“I have to go,” Raven says, eyeing the crowd with wariness. “Take care, Charles.”

Before Charles can say goodbye, Raven has slipped through the throng and disappeared.

Charles has to swallow a few times to compose himself. He leans against the balustrade for support, feeling an emptiness inside of him he thought he had long since left behind.

“You look like you just lost your best friend.”

Charles raises his head to see Erik appearing, as he so often does these days, out of thin air in the strangest of places.

“You’re not that far off the mark,” Charles admits.

“Who is she?”

“My sister. Well, adopted sister. We grew up together.”

Erik leans against the balustrade next to Charles, their arms not quite touching. “She’s magnificent.”

Charles smiles a little wistfully. “She is that.”

Erik takes a deep breath as though steeling himself for something. “I came to apologize for Shaw’s behavior. He likes to…provoke people.”

“Oh, he does much more than that. I know they haven’t been able to tie those letter bombs to him, but that doesn’t mean that he hasn’t been involved.” The question that has been bugging him all along slips out at last. “How can you be friends with someone like him? He’s little better than a terrorist.”

Erik frowns, choosing his words carefully. “I believe in what he says. The humans will never allow us to peacefully coexist. They fear us too much.”

Charles itches to argue the point, but he holds himself back. His restraint is rewarded when Erik continues:

“Shaw was there for me at a difficult time. I was messed up as a kid, got into a lot of trouble. Shaw sorted it out. He took me in, never asked any questions. I owe him.”

Charles knows this is all he can expect to hear about it from Erik, so he stamps down the urge to inquire further. Instead he asks: “How far does that loyalty extend?”

Erik contemplates the question for a few moments before he shrugs. “I guess we’ll find out.”

Their eyes meet and Charles feels like he’s drowning. He knows he’s vulnerable right now, knows that his defenses are low because of his run-in with Raven, but he can’t help himself: Erik is there, all solid and comforting and real, and Charles…he just _needs_. So he reaches out to draw Erik in, brushing his lips over Erik’s in the faintest whisper of a kiss.

At first, Erik seems too shocked to reciprocate. His eyes have widened and he stares at Charles in disbelief. Then Charles darts his tongue out to taste, just a small lick over Erik’s lower lip, and that’s all it takes for Erik to get with the program. He slings his arms around Charles, drawing him closer until they are chest to chest, and opens his mouth to welcome Charles in.

It’s so much more exhilarating than Charles could have dreamed of. The taste of Erik, the fullness of his lips, the strength of his arms, the fact that Charles hasn’t had this in what suddenly feels like _years_ – it all combines to make Charles half-hard in about the time it takes to suck Erik’s tongue into his mouth. He’s dimly aware that he’s clinging to Erik, one hand clutching his dress shirt, the other messing up his hair, but Erik doesn’t seem to mind, if his breathless moans are anything to go by.

“Charles,” he whispers when they come up for air. “ _Endlich_ , Charles…”

Erik crowds him against the balustrade, erection pressing into his thigh, and Charles knows they are moments away from rutting against each other like a couple of horny teenagers.

That’s when reality comes crashing back down on him and he becomes aware of two facts. A: they are very much _not alone_ right now, and even though Charles is no stranger to public sex, he’d prefer a little more privacy in this case. And B –

“Shit,” Charles mumbles, resting his forehead against Erik’s shoulder and trying to catch his breath. “Stop, we need… We need to stop.”

Erik, who is nibbling a path down Charles’ throat like he’d be content to do nothing else for the rest of his life, doesn’t seem to have heard him.

“Erik –” The word gets lost in a gasp as Erik bites down on a particularly sensitive spot. _Dammit_ , if Charles wants to stop this, he has to do so now, or he’ll never be able to.

“Erik, love, I’m sorry, but…” Charles takes a deep breath and cups Erik’s face with his hands.

Erik’s eyes are hazy when they meet his. “What?”

“Not here.”

These are not the words Charles had meant to say, but they are sufficient to make Erik aware of his surroundings. He takes a step back – hissing when his erection brushes against Charles’ hip as he does so – and lets out a shuddering breath.

“You’re right,” he says, nodding a few times in a visible effort to compose himself. “You’re right.”

Charles has to swallow hard to quell his disappointment. He knows he can’t allow this to happen again, yet he still wants it so much it _hurts_. His body is trembling and his hands have yet to let go of Erik, clutching the lapels of his jacket like a life line.

“Inside,” Erik says, taking his hand and leading him through the crowd of people, who are very pointedly not looking at them as they pass. Charles is still in too much of a daze to object or even question where they are going, so he starts when Erik suddenly stops in front of a door, opens it, and drags Charles inside after him.

Charles almost snorts in amusement. They’re in a bloody _coat closet_.

“Isn’t that a little on the nose?” he asks, having a hard time suppressing his laughter. “That’s the first place they’re going to look for us, you know.”

“Let them come,” Erik grumbles, pushing Charles against the rack of coats and starting right where he left off at what seems to have become his favorite spot on Charles’ neck.

It’s perfect, having Erik’s lips on his skin. Feeling the light stubble of his beard, the roughness of his lips where they’re chapped, the smooth glide of his tongue as he sucks and licks his way downwards, his hands already busy undoing Charles’ bow tie…

“Stop,” Charles gasps, remembering why he had meant to put an end to this in the first place. “Erik, please.”

Erik lifts his head and fixes Charles with a slightly impatient look. “I’m getting some mixed signals here, Charles.”

“I’m sorry. I know this must seem…odd. But I need you to – you have to know…”

He falters. Charles has never faltered during this part. He has delivered this speech more times than he cares to remember, has always managed to stay composed in the face of rejection. He was prepared for it. But looking at Erik now, at the aroused and bewildered expression in his face… Charles realizes he doesn’t want to see him leave.

But he will, once the truth is out. They have all left, eventually.

“Fuck,” he says, balling his hands into fists and turning away from Erik. “ _Fuck_!”

“Charles, what is it?” Erik is sounding genuinely concerned now.

Charles grabs a few strands of his hair and pulls, the pain providing him with an anchor to focus on something other than his twisted desires.

“Charles, you’re starting to scare me. What’s wrong?”

“I can’t do this.”

“Can’t do what?”

“This.” Charles gestures between them. “Us. I can’t.”

“Why not?” Erik asks, his frown deepening, the memory of Charles being more than fine with _this_ just moments ago clearly written on his face.

There’s no room in this sodding closet, no room to breathe, no room to avoid Erik’s questioning gaze.

_Just get it over with._

Charles takes a deep breath and braces himself. Looking Erik straight in the face he says, “I’m HIV positive.”

He closes his eyes and waits for the axe to fall.


	2. High Up Above

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks again to [JayEz](http://archiveofourown.org/users/JayEz/pseuds/JayEz) for feedback and support! <3

“You’re…what?”

“Please don’t make me say it again.”

Erik stares at him, uncomprehending. “But that’s not… how – I mean… You’re a mutant!”

Charles raises his eyebrows. “Not to burst your bubble, but the x-gene doesn’t come with an inbuilt immunity to all major diseases on this planet.”

“I’ve never heard of a mutant contracting HIV.”

“Believe it or not, it’s possible.” Charles grits his teeth, waiting for the penny to drop. Erik still seems to be having trouble grasping the concept. It’s almost funny to watch.

Charles can tell when the truth finally registers. Erik’s look of puzzlement slowly turns into something more serious. He rubs a hand over his face and starts pacing in the cramped space.

“I’m sorry to drop the bomb on you like that, but you have a right to know,” Charles says, trying his best to sound calm. “So that you can make an informed decision.”

“Decision?”

“Whether or not you want to see me again.”

Erik’s frown is back. “Why wouldn’t I want to see you again?”

Charles closes his eyes, mentally counting to five before he answers. “You wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve heard the ‘let’s just stay friends’ line after announcing that I’m positive. People get scared. It’s human nature.”

“I’m not human.”

Charles rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“So you expect me to what – just walk away from this?”

“It would certainly be the easiest way out.”

“I’m not looking for a way out.”

“ _Erik_ ,” Charles forces out through gritted teeth, “you have to admit that this complicates things.”

Erik, the stubborn idiot, just shrugs in response. “It means we have to be careful. Be safe, always. But as long as you’re on medication, your health shouldn’t be affected, should it?”

“It’s not quite as simple as that, but in general terms, yes.”

“So what’s the problem?”

Charles stares at him. “Are you serious? There’s no such thing as a zero risk situation, Erik. You’d be exposing yourself.”

“The best things usually come at a risk.”

“Not like this one. We’re talking about your life here!”

“Funny, I thought we were talking about _yours_.”

Charles gasps, thrown for a loop. Erik isn’t conforming at all to the pattern he has become used to when he has had this conversation in the past. He’s usually already alone at this point.

Erik, meanwhile, is studying him through narrowed eyes. “It sounds to me like you _want_ me to run for the door. Is that it?”

“No, of course not! I just want you to think it over before you rush into anything. This isn’t a game for me.”

“It’s not a game for me either.”

Charles can feel something in his chest start to smolder, the tiniest spark of hope. Could this be for real?

Erik has come to stand before him. His hand reaches out to take Charles’ and Charles finds himself leaning against Erik by default. It’s so tempting to just throw all of his second guesses overboard and stay like this forever.

“I need you to be sure,” he whispers against Erik’s chest. “Please take some time to think it over.”

There’s a pause before Erik steps back and withdraws his hand. Charles already feels lost without its warmth.

“Fine. If that’s what you want.”

Charles nods, though the urge to snatch back Erik’s hand is still overwhelming.

Erik doesn’t look at him again as he runs his fingers through his own hair and adjusts his tux to make himself presentable. Music filters through the door when he opens it and disappears back into the crowd.

It takes Charles a long time to be able to follow him.

*~*~*

Charles does his best to keep busy over the next few days, but as much as he immerses himself in research, lesson plans, and the occasional soccer game with the children, his thoughts still revolve around Erik twenty-four-seven. Moira keeps throwing him worried looks, and Hank even tries to get Charles to open up about his feelings, a disastrous attempt they quickly agree to never mention again.

A couple of days after the gala, Charles is sitting in his study when a familiar presence lights up the entrance hall like a beacon. Heart pounding in his chest, he abandons the essay he is working on and rushes outside. Erik is standing beneath the chandelier next to a pretty teenage girl who looks around the hall in unadulterated awe.

“Erik!” Charles says a little breathless as he comes to a halt in front of them. Erik’s answering smile makes his stomach flutter.

“Charles. This is Angel.”

“A pleasure.” Charles holds out his hand, which the girl takes after a moment’s hesitation. “Erik told me about you, of course. Would you like to take a look around?”

Angel nods, still eyeing the staircase like something she’s only seen in movies.

“Classes are over for today,” Charles explains as he leads the two of them upstairs. “But I can show you the classrooms and introduce you to some of the teachers.” He sends a mental signal to Alex to meet them on the first floor. “Erik tells me your mutation is avian?”

“Eh…what?” Angel asks, nonplussed.

“I’m sorry, what I meant is: you can fly?”

“Oh! Yes, I can,” Angel says, smiling for the first time. Like most kids, she seems proud of her mutation once they were sure they weren’t going to be chastised for it.

“She’s like a missile,” Erik piles on, meeting Charles’ eyes over Angel’s head. “I’m just glad she’s on our side.”

Angel beams under the praise.

“There’s Alex,” Charles announces as he spots the young man coming towards them. “He’ll be able to answer all your questions. He teaches here, too – mainly some of our more, eh, _volatile_ students.”

Alex throws Erik a curious look when he joins them but quickly focuses on the girl. Charles makes the introductions and hands Angel over into Alex’ care, hoping that someone a little closer to her own age might make her open up more easily.

“Where did you find her?” Charles asks once the pair is off down the corridor and he’s alone with Erik.

“A strip club in Tampa. She was hiding her wings as tattoos.”

“Clever.” Charles doesn’t comment on the obvious – like Alex’ and so many other mutants’ at his school, Angel’s background is obviously a difficult one. “Good thing you took her in.”

Erik nods, glancing sideways at Charles. He looks like he’s about to say something but holds his tongue.

After a few moments of silence, Charles decides he can’t take the tension any longer.

“You came back,” he says, heart beating in his throat.

“I said I would.”

“So does this mean… Do you want to –”

“Yes.”

Charles can barely speak against the tightness in his throat. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. I’m not afraid, Charles.”

For a moment, Charles forgets how to breathe. Then he lets out a sigh of relief. “Good. That’s…fantastic. Splendid.” His smile is so wide that his cheeks start hurting.

“So can I finally take you to dinner now?” Erik asks, his eyes alight.

“Oh my god, yes!” He catches himself, blushing. “I mean, yes, please. I’d like that.”

Erik chuckles. “Good.”

They stand there, gazing into each other’s eyes like a pair of lovesick teenagers. Charles can’t even remember the last time he got lost in someone else’s presence like this.

It’s only when Alex comes back around the corner with Angel in tow that the contact between them breaks. Charles can feel heat rise in his cheeks, all too aware of Erik’s eyes on him while he tries to hold a conversation with Alex.

He can tell they aren’t fooling anyone: Angel seems caught between rapture and hilarity, while Alex keeps glaring at Erik as if he was trying to decide whether or not he needed to pummel him. No doubt the whole school is going to know about them tomorrow.

Charles decides he’s feeling way too good right now to care.

*~*~*

What follows is one of the most intense months of Charles’ life, and also one of the happiest. Dating Erik is like discovering a gushing well at the end of a long winding desert road, and he plunges into it with an abandonment he hasn’t allowed himself since before he was diagnosed. They know how to be safe, and Erik isn’t scared off by the truth. It’s as close to perfect as it can be. 

There’s only one condition Erik imposes and Charles accepts, albeit with a twinge of regret: “You never get inside my head. Ever.”

While Erik is certainly not the first non-psionic Charles has known with reservations about allowing him access to his mind during sex, he remembers the added layers of pleasure only too well. Erik has no idea what he’s missing out on – which doesn’t make his request any less binding, of course.

That, however, is the only cloud in an otherwise glorious blue sky. Charles is crazy about Erik, and the feeling is definitely mutual. Before long, they are making out wherever they go: in Charles’ study, the back seat of Erik’s car, the men’s room at their favorite diner. They can’t seem to keep their hands off each other.

Charles has always been a sensual person, and having only his right hand for company for over a year has taken its toll. He craves Erik like a drug he can’t get enough of. He finds himself addicted to his smell, the taste of his skin, and _oh god_ his lips. When Charles first blows him he almost weeps from how much he’s missed having another man’s cock in his mouth.

Despite his knowledge that it’s perfectly safe for them to have penetrative sex, that condoms plus an undetectable viral load means there’s next to no risk of transmitting the virus, Charles’ pulse flutters when he invites Erik to stay over after a night out dancing at one of the local clubs. He’s missed the party scene more than he realized, and the beat is still pounding through his blood when Erik pulls a bottle of lube and a couple of condoms from his pocket and puts them down on the nightstand.

Erik must have sensed his apprehension, for he says: “We don’t have to.”

“No, I want to. It’s just…” He swallows. “It’s been a while.”

“I’ll go easy on you,” Erik teases.  

Charles rolls his eyes but can’t help chuckling. More to cover up his nervousness than anything else, he starts undressing. Erik follows suit and before long, they are facing each other at the foot end of Charles’ enormous bed.

Charles is not usually one for being self-conscious about his looks, but next to Erik, he feels a bit like an out-of-shape dwarf. Erik, on the other hand, is like a fantasy that just stepped out of someone’s wet dream: taut and muscular with just the right amount of chest hair, and a truly spectacular cock that’s already filling.

The thought of having that thing of beauty inside him makes Charles’ mouth water. He’s always been a bit of a size queen, and Erik’s cock certainly comes down on the larger end of the scale. Charles can’t resist the temptation to kneel down and take a lick, just to get a taste.

Soon he is sucking at Erik’s balls and lets his tongue wander to swirl around the head. That’s when Erik grabs his shoulders and rumbles:

“If you want to have your share of the fun, you’d better stop now.”

Charles takes the hint and gets up, wiping his mouth as he does so. He climbs onto the mattress, making sure that Erik is watching as he drapes himself against the pillows. Then he spreads his legs in an open invitation, his cock already leaking against his stomach.

“Show me what you’ve got,” he says, making it a challenge.

Erik’s eyes glaze over and he wastes no time climbing on top of Charles. He rips open the condom and rolls it down his length, then makes a grab for the lube with what to Charles’ surprise are slightly trembling hands.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good,” Erik mumbles while he warms up the lube between his fingers. “You won’t ever want me to stop.”

“Put your money where your mouth is,” Charles prompts him with an impatient tilt of his hips.

The breach of the first digit inside him makes Charles hiss and his muscles clench involuntarily. _Fuck_. He’s really out of practice.

“You okay?” Erik asks, stroking Charles’ thigh with his free hand.

Charles takes a deep breath to relax, and nods. “Keep going.”

Erik adds another lube-slicked finger, scissoring them to stretch Charles further. Normally, Charles would rush on the proceedings, but muscle memory has yet to kick in.

It helps when Erik’s fingers brush against his prostate and his cock gives an enthusiastic jerk. _Oh yes_.

“So tight, Charles,” Erik whispers, drawing his fingers out and adding a third. “You’re gonna feel so good around my cock.”

Charles’ erection throbs against his stomach and he throws his head back with a groan. A moment later, Erik withdraws his hand from Charles’ ass, making Charles whimper at the emptiness.

He doesn’t have to wait long. Erik takes his legs one by one and arranges them over his shoulders. Before Charles knows it, Erik’s cock nudges at his entrance, stretching him a lot wider than those three fingers have before. Charles feels himself go tense again.

“Shh,” Erik soothes, rubbing his flank and leaning down for a kiss. “You’re okay, Charles, just relax.”

 _Easier said than done_ , Charles longs to say, but he doesn’t have the coherency left – not when Erik puts a hand around his shaft and starts stroking leisurely. He rubs his thumb over the slit, smearing the head with precum.  

“Oh god,” Charles moans, panting. “More, Erik, just do it. I want you inside me. _Please_.” He knows he’s babbling, but Erik seems to have gotten the message, for he grabs Charles’ hips and pushes in for real.

It hurts, being stretched like this for the first time in so long, and Charles can feel tears gather at the corners of his eyes. For a few moments, he truly doubts that he can take all of Erik, being as big as he is. Thankfully, that’s when Erik’s cock brushes against his prostate and Charles’ world explodes in a sea of stars.

From there on, it’s a delirious mix of pleasure and pain as Erik glides all the way inside. He lets out a guttural groan once he bottoms out, and holds absolutely still. His eyes are squeezed shut and he looks like he’s about to rip apart at the seams _._ Charles doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything more arousing.

“Move,” he whispers, pushing away the residual pain.

Erik sets a gentle rhythm, sweat forming on his forehead from the effort of holding back. Their eyes lock while they are joined like this, and Charles uses his ankles on Erik’s back to draw him in.

“Faster,” he moans. “Faster, Erik, come on…”

At his words, Erik lets go of his tight control and his thrusts pick up speed until they become desperate. It doesn’t take long for him to spill himself inside Charles. The sigh of his orgasm has to be the most beautiful sound Charles has ever heard.

Erik buries his face in Charles’ shoulder, breathing heavily. “Charles,” he whispers, sounding wrecked. “God, Charles…”

Charles thinks he could come solely from the way Erik says his name, like a prayer, a benediction.

Once Erik has had a chance to catch his breath, his fingers wrap around Charles’ cock and start stroking. Charles reaches his peak with Erik still buried inside him, while clutching his shoulders like a drowning man.

He lies awake for a long time after Erik has fallen asleep, listening to his gentle snores. His heart is still pounding in his chest. Charles can’t tell exactly what happened tonight, but he knows that, this thing with Erik? It’s different somehow. It feels like his soul is on fire. And he’s not sure whether he minds getting burned.  

*~*~*

They have “The Talk” a lot later than Charles anticipated.

It’s usually one of the first questions people have when he tells them about his HIV status, the inevitable “How did you get it?” But it’s a good couple of weeks after they started having sex when Charles first notices Erik getting restless across the chessboard, shifting in his armchair as though he sat down on a pin cushion. Charles doesn’t need his telepathy to guess what’s on Erik’s mind.

“Just ask me,” he says, moving one of his pawns.

“What?” Erik asks, tearing his eyes away from the chessboard and looking up at Charles.

“If you want to know, just ask me,” Charles repeats.

“You have no idea what I… Wait a minute. Are you inside my head?”

“You’d know it if I was.”

Charles discovered it by accident one night. He slipped during sex, lost control of his telepathy, and his mind tried to merge with Erik’s. That’s when he felt them – the barriers, the air-tight shields that Erik has erected to keep unwanted intruders out. It was like running against a steel wall. Charles actually got dizzy from the impact.

He couldn’t read Erik’s mind even if he hadn’t promised him not to. Given time, he might be able to find a way around the barriers, to figure out how to slip through the inevitable cracks – but the price would be Erik’s trust, and Charles isn’t going to let that happen.

“You’ll have to ask me,” he says again.

Erik finally seems to have gotten the point, for he sits up and focusses on Charles. “All right. How did you get infected?” He pauses, gauging Charles’ reaction. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“I know.”

Charles takes a sip from his martini and contemplates the liquid for a moment. “The truth is: I can’t tell exactly who gave it to me.” Charles winces as his thoughts travel back to that fateful night five years ago. “I was stupid, careless. Drunk out of my mind.” He swallows. “There was more than one guy. I don’t even remember how many… It doesn’t matter. I was a fool. I should have known better, but…”

He sighs, placing his glass back on the side table. “I got tested regularly back in the day. Three months later, the results came back positive.” He realizes that his hands have balled into fists and quickly unclenches them.

“And then what?” Erik asks.

Charles scoffs. “I lost it. Completely fell apart. Drank more heavily than ever, even though drinking was what had gotten me into this mess in the first place. I wallowed in self-pity, until Moira straightened me out. She was stationed in Scotland at the time. Moira made me realize I still had a life to live. Gave up her position at the Mutant Research Center and relocated here.”

Charles lowers his eyes, his throat tight. “I don’t know what would have happened to me if it hadn’t been for her.”

“But you’ve been okay since, haven’t you? Physically, I mean.”

Charles nods. “Knock on wood, the cocktail worked from Day One with almost no side effects. I get nauseous when I skip breakfast, but that’s about it.”

Erik looks relieved, for his shoulders lose some of their tension. “I can’t imagine what it must have been like.”

“It was hardest on Raven,” Charles says, unwilling to go into the ugly details of his emotional turmoil back then – he spent enough hours in therapy for that. “She was barely eighteen when I got diagnosed.”

“When did she leave?”

“About a year ago. We got into a huge fight. I’m afraid we’ve never seen eye to eye when it comes to mutant politics. I guess it’s because her mutation is so much more visible than mine. She feels I don’t understand what she’s going through.”

Erik nods, taking it all in. “Can I ask you another question?”

“Go ahead.”

“Why did you stop dating?”

Charles shifts in his chair. “I got tired of the reactions when I announced my status,” he says. “The guys I was with either panicked or pitied me. Neither works well as an aphrodisiac.”

“That’s not the whole story though, is it?” Erik asks, not missing a beat.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re punishing yourself.”

Charles does a double-take. “Sorry, what?”

“I know a thing or two about self-recrimination. I recognize it when I see it. It’s why you tried to make me run for the door.”

“I didn’t –”

“You think you deserve to be unhappy because it was your fault you got infected. You think you deserve to be alone.”

Charles’ throat is tight as he stares at Erik, too stunned to speak.

Erik’s eyes grow soft as he continues. “That’s bullshit, Charles. You’re already paying the price. You’ll be paying it for the rest of your life. Don’t you think that’s enough punishment?”

“I…”

Erik gets up and walks over to Charles, where he sits down on the armrest. He reaches out and runs a thumb across Charles’ cheek, studying him as though he was something precious he just retrieved from the bottom of the ocean.

“You’re allowed to be happy, Charles.”

Charles can only gaze at Erik, swallowing around the lump in his throat. When Erik leans down to kiss him, he gives up on trying to find the right words and lets his body respond.

*~*~*

Reality catches up with them eventually.

They’ve just returned to the mansion after their morning run together, giddy from the adrenaline and the prospect of sharing a well-needed shower. Charles barely has the chance to snatch a bottle of water from the fridge before he is crowded against the kitchen counter. Erik kisses the back of his neck, his erection pressing against Charles’ ass as if they hadn’t just had sex when they woke up.

“I think I can skip my workout from now on,” Charles says a little breathlessly. “Who needs the gym when I’ve got you?”

“Ngh,” is all Erik gets out, his hand slipping under the waistband of Charles’ shorts and wrapping around his cock. Charles lets his head fall back against Erik’s shoulder with a moan.

That, of course, is when the door opens and Moira walks into the kitchen, carrying what appears to be an issue of every available newspaper in the metropolitan area.

Erik groans while he retrieves his hand from within Charles’ shorts, making sure to give Moira a dirty look in the process.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude,” Moira says, sounding anything but. She must have something important on her mind for she barely spares them a glance, heads straight for the kitchen table, and starts spreading the papers.

Charles watches her warily. “If this is about Erik and me being caught on camera again, we really can’t help –”

“That’s not it,” Moira says sharply, arranging the papers so they can take a look at the front pages.

Charles draws in a sharp breath. “Oh my god.”

There are pictures. Gruesome pictures of a body that’s so bruised and bloodied it’s barely recognizable anymore, though there’s no doubt the man in them has to be a mutant: it’s evident by the gills growing along the side of his face and the scale armor covering his chest and back.

“It’s Darwin,” Charles whispers, bile rising in his throat.

Darwin’s body is twisted at an odd angle and the armor that should have protected his vital organs has several deep cracks running through it. Charles can’t even begin to imagine what kind of force the attacker must have used to cause that kind of damage. No one he knows has ever managed to trump Darwin’s skill at adaptation.

“Who’s Darwin?” Erik asks, picking up one of the papers with a frown on his face.

“He used to be a student here,” Moira explains. “Left six months ago because his father got injured in an accident and he had to take care of him.”

“It says here that he was scheduled to pick up a costumer on Parkside Avenue, but he never showed up,” Charles says, skimming one of the pages. “His body was found locked in the trunk of his taxi. They left him there to die.”

“His mutation is the only reason he’s still alive,” Moira says, ashen-faced. “But it looks like it was a close call.”

“I can’t believe this. Who would _do_ something like this?”

Erik snorts, throwing the paper back onto the table. “The same people who were parading in front of the Department of Homeland Security last month, carrying banners that said _Fight the Freaks_. The same people who believe that in order to control us, all mutants should be forced to wear GPS monitors around the clock. _Humans_.”

Moira tenses at the venom in Erik’s voice.

“We don’t know that,” Charles says as calmly as possible, throwing Moira a concerned look. “Let’s not jump to conclusions.”

Erik points at one of the headlines. “This is clearly a hate crime. Somebody’s got it in for mutants, and they picked your friend to make a point!”

“Actually, there’s no evidence –” Moira starts, but is cut off immediately.

“Of course the papers don’t come right out and say it! They’re as biased against mutants as the rest of them. They’re going to cover it up. They’re going to play it down to a simple mugging, or a race issue, but they will never admit to the fact that mutants are now the most discriminated against ethnic group in the entire country!”

“It doesn’t help anyone if we pass judgment without knowing the facts,” Charles says, feeling his own anger rise in the light of Erik’s stubbornness. “We’ll be of no use to Darwin if we act rashly.”

Erik raises his eyebrows. “So what’s your solution? Sit idly by and do nothing while they pick us up one by one?”

“I won’t point the finger at anyone before I know for sure I’m blaming the right person. You can’t just peremptorily condemn all humans because of a few black sheep.”

“It’s what _they_ do to _us_!”

“Will you stop with the generalizations?!” Moira says, now visibly affronted. “It’s not as if every human on the planet’s got it in for mutants. You’re oversimplifying a complex situation −”

“Oh, am I?” Erik snaps, narrowing his eyes at her. “And where were you when the Cambodian government slaughtered an entire mutant village because they were deemed a threat to national security?”

“Erik, that’s enough!” Charles cuts him off, because Moira looks about ready to reach for a gun, and he knows what she’s like once she gets riled up. What’s more, the cutlery in the drawers is rattling ominously, and Charles really doesn’t want bloodshed in his kitchen on top of everything else.

Erik looks affronted, as if by intervening Charles had picked Moira’s side instead of his.

Charles pinches the bridge of his nose. “Let’s all just calm down, alright? This isn’t worth fighting over. What matters is Darwin. Is there anything we can do for him?”

There is a pause in which Moira and Erik glare at each other. Then Erik says:

“I know what _I’m_ going to do. But since it involves drawing a line against humans I guess I’m looking in the wrong place for support.”

“Erik –” Charles starts, but Erik has already turned on his heels and is marching out the door. Charles watches him go with a sinking feeling.

“I’m sorry, Charles,” Moira says, wrapping her arms around herself.

“It’s not your fault. He can be…”

“Judgmental? Thickheaded? A bigoted fool?”

Charles lets out a small smile. “Yeah, sometimes.”

“So what _are_ we going to do for Darwin?”

Charles face falls. “I’m going to the hospital,” he says after a minute. “Maybe there’s some way I can reach him.”

“He’s in a coma, Charles.”

“I’ve got to try.”

Moira’s eyes have grown soft, and she nods. “I’ll cover your classes. I’m sure your students won’t mind skipping another lecture on the importance of keeping their powers in check. You know they’re calling you an old fart.”

Charles chuckles. “Yes, I’m aware. Thank you, Moira.” He clasps her shoulder with feeling and heads for the door.

With his mind on Darwin’s situation and Erik stomping out the way he did, Charles almost collides with Hank when he passes through the entrance hall. It’s odd to see him up here in his lab coat, glasses askew and his hair looking as though he’d spent the whole morning running his hands through it. Hank usually doesn’t leave the lab before dinner.

“Charles!” he almost shouts in surprise. “I was looking for you. Do you have a minute?”

“Actually, this isn’t a good time. I was just on my way to –”

“I’m afraid this can’t wait,” Hank says, and it’s only now that Charles notices the sweat on his brow and the barely concealed panic emanating from him.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, mentally going through the projects Hank is working on at the moment. “Is Cerebro –”

“What? No, nothing like that.”

When Hank actually turns around to make sure they’re alone, Charles’ feeling of foreboding increases. He knows he won’t like what he’s about to hear.

He’s proven right barely a minute later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still don't have a native speaker beta, so if you like this story and might be able to spare the time, please leave a note in the comments below or [contact me on tumblr](http://merlenhiver.tumblr.com/).


	3. Down Below

When Erik arrives at the hotel, he leaves his car with the valet and heads straight for the penthouse. Snippets of the argument with Charles and Moira are still replaying in his mind. He just can’t believe Charles sometimes – for all his intelligence and knowledge, the man can be so furiously naïve and ignorant of the way things really are. His refusal to see the world for what it is — it’s not just dumb, it’s downright _dangerous_.

Erik is still fuming by the time he reaches the private elevator, types in the key code, and pushes the button for the top floor. Charles has personally _known_ this Darwin kid and he’s still not prepared to take a stance against humans. What will have to happen for him to wake up and realize that the future of their entire species is at stake here?

The elevator doors open, and Erik is released into a lavishly decorated corridor. Shaw has always liked to live in style. He might not have been as vastly rich when Erik first met him back in Germany, but even then he knew how to display his wealth.

Erik has barely taken a few steps along the hallway when he runs into Emma, who is wearing one of her shortest snow-white sheath dresses.

“Erik!” she greets him with a faux smile on her face. “I didn’t expect to see you here. Where’s your telepath friend?”

“None of your business,” Erik grumbles, pushing past her.

“My, my, we _are_ in a bad mood. Lover’s spat?” she asks mockingly, falling in step with him. Erik doesn’t deign to give her a response.

They reach the living area, a spacious room large enough to host a small wedding reception or, as it were, the Inner Circle of the Hellfire Club. Janos is there lounging at the bar, looking sickeningly smug as always, along with Azazel and Harry Leland. That Pyro kid is playing with his Zippo in the far corner, watching the flame flicker to life and go out again. Erik itches to make him stop.

“Erik!” a pompous voice resonates through the room, and Erik turns to see Shaw coming towards him. “The lost son returns!” Shaw has spread his arms wide as if expecting Erik to fall into his embrace. “Have you finally gotten sick of playing house with the human lover?”

“His name is Charles,” Erik says sharply.

Shaw’s patronizing smile only grows wider. “Still no sense of humor. We’ll have to work on that.” He pats Erik on the back. “So what’s Xavier been up to?”

“Nothing,” Erik says with a shrug, because he can’t think of a single aspect of Charles’ life that would interest Shaw – unless you counted Charles’ political views, which weren’t exactly a secret. “That’s not why I’m here. That boy from Brooklyn –”

“Ah,” Shaw says, comprehension dawning on his face. “I thought that might be it. I’ve already issued a statement on behalf of the Brotherhood, saying that we strongly condemn this horrific act of violence against our kind and demand a thorough and swift investigation by the police.”

“Is that all?”

Shaw chuckles. “You know me better than that.” He raises his voice. “Janos, Azazel – fill Erik in on the game plan, will you?”

Shaw squeezes Erik’s shoulders and saunters off. Erik joins Janos and Azazel on one of the couches, where the two of them quickly outline their intended retaliatory strike. It looks like Erik has come back just in time, as it’s going to go down tonight.

“What’s our target?” he asks.

“The Church of Humanity’s assembly hall in Flatbush,” Janos says. “It’s closest to where the boy’s body was found.”

Erik nods. “That ought to send a message.”

“We think so,” Azazel says, baring his teeth. “You in, мой друг?”

Erik doesn’t need to mull it over – he’s been hell-bent on taking action ever since he’s seen the pictures of Darwin’s mutilated body.

“I’m in.”

*~*~*

They meet back at the penthouse, from where Azazel takes them to an abandoned alley close to the assembly hall. It’s just Janos, Pyro, and Erik himself in addition to the teleporter. Erik would have objected to the kid being there, but since he himself only jumped on the bandwagon at the very last minute, he doesn’t really have the right to complain. Besides, the kid’s mutation might come in handy.

Night has already fallen as they make their way to their target. The streets are still moderately busy, people milling around the shops or heading for the Burger King close by, but none of the humans pays them any heed. It helps that Azazel is wearing a cape that partially obscures his face.

The assembly hall is a broad Renaissance-style structure built sometime in the 1920s. Its windows are lit, revealing the fuzzy outlines of people gathering behind them.

They line up on the pavement opposite: Janos to the left of Erik, Pyro to his right, with Azazel bringing up the rear. They don’t have to worry about being too exposed: once Janos gets going, none of the passers-by will be able to recognize them anymore. They’ll be too busy trying to survive.

Janos looks at him and Erik gives a small nod. Then they are off.

Erik can’t tell which of them strikes first. His skin is prickling with power as he flings a couple of cars out of their way, then reaches for the building’s steel girders and bends them to his will. Next to him, Pyro unleashes a fiery blaze which Janos intensifies with a rush of wind gusting from his hands.

The assembly hall collapses under the combined force of fire, electromagnetism, and a force twelve gale.

The whole thing has taken less than a minute. People are screaming and the sound of crushing bricks and splintering glass is deafening. The heat of the flames makes Erik’s eyes water, but before he can even turn his back on them, Azazel has taken his hand and has teleported them back to the penthouse.

They look at each other, a little out of breath, and slowly begin to smile.

“That was _awesome_!” Pyro cheers, pumping his fist in the air and performing some kind of victory dance. Janos raises his eyebrows at him.

“Calm down, kid,” Azazel chides, though he’s practically glowing with satisfaction himself.

“This calls for a celebration!” Janos proclaims, already heading for the bar with Pyro clinging to his heels.

“You coming, Erik?” Azazel asks, and for a moment Erik wonders if he’s become telepathic in his absence to have picked up on Erik’s hesitation.

“I think I’ll pass,” Erik says after a minute. “There’s somewhere I’ve got to be.”

Azazel nods, studying him through narrowed eyes. “See you around then.”

Erik mumbles a goodbye and watches Azazel join Janos and Pyro at the bar. With only a small pang of regret, he makes for the elevator.

*~*~*

The mansion is dark and quiet when Erik parks his car and heads for the front doors. He opens the lock with his powers, careful not to make a sound, while he climbs the steps to the third floor.

Charles’ bedroom is located at the end of a long corridor and Erik manages to slip through the door without having stirred any of the mansion’s occupants. On tiptoes, he makes his way to the bed. Charles always sleeps on the left side, so he walks over to the right, slips off his shoes, and slides under the covers.

The bed is empty.

It takes Erik a full minute to process that the warm body he expected to find isn’t where it’s supposed to be. Shaking his head in confusion, he reaches out with his powers, honing in on Charles’ watch. In the past weeks, it has become as familiar to him as the coin he himself always carries around in his pocket.

It’s not too long before Erik finds what he’s been looking for. The watch is in Charles’ study, and since he never takes it off except for sleeping, that’s where Charles has to be.

Erik gets out of bed, decides to leave his shoes where they are, and retraces his steps down the stairs. He supposes he should have picked up on the sliver of light under the study door when he first came through the entrance hall, but he was too fixated on not waking anyone to notice. Now, though, he slowly opens the door with his powers and takes a look inside.

At first, he can’t even make out Charles. His study is the usual mess of books, papers, magazines, and the occasional tea cup spread haphazardly across every available surface. The room is dimly lit by a floor lamp in the corner. Their chess game from last night resides on a side table, still unfinished. It’s Charles’ move next.  

Erik ventures further into the room, and that’s when he finally finds its occupant: he’s slumped so low in one of the armchairs next to the window that the back of his head is barely visible from behind.

“Charles?” Erik calls softly, not wanting to wake him in case he is asleep. But the figure in the armchair stirs and Charles’ face peeks around the backrest.

“Erik! You’re back!” Charles beams at him, and that’s when Erik realizes that something is off. Not only do the words sound slurred, but now that he is closer he also catches a waft of what he quickly identifies as very expensive scotch.

“Are you drunk?” Erik asks, rounding the armchair and coming to stand in front of Charles.

Charles makes an elaborate gesture that causes the glass in his hand to spill over. He doesn’t even seem to realize that whiskey is now dripping down his arm. 

“That was very rude, what you said to Moira this morning,” Charles chides, pointing an admonishing finger at Erik – or in his general direction at least. “Moira is good people, Erik.”

“I know,” Erik says slowly, taking in Charles’ red cheeks, the disheveled hair, and the carelessly thrown over bathrobe. “You don’t get drunk anymore. You told me so yourself.”

“Pish-posh,” Charles says, and giggles at the sound of his own words. “Pour yourself a glass, Erik.”

“I don’t think so.”

Erik stares at Charles, his mind not computing. Charles can’t possibly have taken their fight this morning to heart, can he? It’s not as if it was the first time they disagreed on current events. Things may be different now that they’re sleeping together, but surely Charles wouldn’t go on a drinking binge over an argument on mutant issues?

“What happened?” Erik asks, kneeling down in front of Charles and starting to stroke his calves, which are cold to the touch. A sudden thought hits him. “Did you go and see Darwin?”

Charles’ eyes grow so sad that Erik almost regrets asking the question. It tells him that he’s on the right track, however.

“Couldn’t reach him,” Charles says, staring at nothing as he remembers. “Tried to with my powers, but there was…there was nothing. No one there.”

Erik swallows. If not even Charles could reach Darwin’s mind, it might already be too late for the boy.

An actual tear runs down Charles’ cheek, and even though Erik knows Charles isn’t really himself right now, it cuts him to the bone.

“Let’s get you to bed,” he says, rising to his feet and tugging at the sleeve of Charles’ bathrobe. “Come on.”

After a few failed attempts, Erik manages to hoist Charles’ arm over his shoulder and maneuver him out of the chair and into the entrance hall.

“I’m going to lift us upstairs, all right?” he warns Charles, even though he can tell it’s a wasted effort. “Hold on.”

Erik concentrates on the metal on both their bodies, tightens his grip on Charles, and levitates them to the third floor.

“Oomph!” Charles gasps as they take off the ground, clinging to Erik as if for dear life. His face turns white and for a minute, Erik is afraid he might be sick while they’re still in the air. It’s a relief when he finally manages to drag Charles into his room and drop him onto the bed, where he lies sprawled like a puppet with his strings cut.

Erik doesn’t bother undressing him, just tucks an already sleeping Charles under the covers and lies down by his side. The adrenaline from the attack hasn’t fully left his system and Erik finds himself staying awake for a long time, listening to Charles’ breaths.

*~*~*

Judging by the sounds of woe coming from underneath the covers in the morning, Charles has got to have the mother of all hangovers – which isn’t exactly surprising. Erik decides to leave the lecture for later and fetches some aspirin instead, which Charles gulps down after what’s probably supposed to be a grunt of gratitude.

Erik goes for a run, and then seeks out Moira to tell her Charles won’t be up to his teaching duties today. Moira acts cold and aloof around him, not that it bothers Erik. She does seem concerned about Charles, though.

“Did something happen?” she asks, frowning at Erik as if he was the one who got him drunk. “That’s not at all like him.”

“He went to see Darwin in the ICU yesterday, didn’t he?” Erik asks, annoyed by her implication.

Moira doesn’t say anything in response, just tersely informs him that she’d be happy to cover Charles’ classes again, and leaves in a huff.

By noon, Charles has recovered sufficiently that Erik feels justified to drag him out of bed and away from the mansion for lunch. Their favorite diner is only twenty minutes away by car, and even if Charles complains the whole way, Erik can tell that the outing is doing him good. His face has regained some of its usual color at least.

It’s bordering on green again while he studies the menu, but Erik insists on ordering soup and a sandwich for him anyway.

“You need to eat before you take these,” Erik says, lining up the pills he brought on the table between them.

Charles tenses and eyes the pills with something akin to wariness. “What’s this?”

“Your medication?” Erik says, wondering if Charles isn’t yet as sober as he appears to be. “You slept through two of your alarms this morning. You need to keep to your schedule.”

Charles is still staring at the pills as though he expected them to bite him in the face. Then he slowly palms them without looking at Erik.

“I didn’t realize you were keeping track of my regimen.”

“I’ve been practically living with you for the last few weeks, Charles,” Erik says, not sure where their conversation is headed. “I’ve picked up on a few things.”

That’s when their food arrives, and Erik watches Charles pick at his sandwich with a sickened expression. At least he finishes half the soup before he swallows his pills.

“I’m sorry you had to witness this last night,” he says after a long silence. “I don’t usually get like this anymore.”

“I’ve seen worse,” Erik says, meaning it. “And it’s not as if you didn’t have a good reason.”

Charles makes a confirming sound, and the misery that surrounds him becomes so pronounced that Erik longs to take his hand. It’s not a good idea to be showing off their relationship in public, however. They may not be A-list celebrities, but they are known well enough to warrant a candid or two on somebody’s Twitter account. They agreed from the onset that they could do without this kind of attention.

Before Erik can make up his mind what to say to Charles, his senses pick up on something so unique and powerful that he’s completely distracted. It’s some sort of metal, the like of which Erik has never felt before. He quickly scans the room to locate its source, but before he does, the tangy smell of cigar smoke invades his nostrils and a gruff voice calls out from behind:

“Charles! Fancy seeing you here.”

When Erik turns around, a man who’s built like a tree is headed straight for their table. He’s wearing jeans and a plaid shirt, and his beard, sideburns, and thick mane of hair give him a slightly animalistic touch.

The stranger plucks the cigar from between his lips and addresses Charles. “You look like shit.”

“Thank you, Logan, that’s very kind of you to say,” Charles replies sarcastically, but Erik can tell that he’s actually pleased to see him.

The stranger proceeds to muster Erik without a trace of bashfulness. “That your boyfriend?” he asks Charles, gesturing at Erik with the cigar in his hand.

“Yes, he is indeed. Logan, meet Erik Lehnsherr. Erik, this is Logan, an old friend of mine.”

Erik reluctantly shakes the proffered hand and has to suppress a wince at the strength in those fingers. It’s the metal, Erik realizes in amazement. It envelops the man’s whole skeleton.

“I hope for your sake you’re taking good care of Charles here, bub,” Logan says to him.

Erik feels his temper rise at being addressed like a child, but before he can come up with a suitable retort, Logan’s attention is on Charles again. His face has grown serious.

“Beast told me. You okay?”

Charles’ eyes flicker to Erik for a second before he answers. “I’m fine, Logan.”

“Do you need anything? You know you can always drop by and –”

“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. Hank’s got it covered.”

“If you say so.” Logan doesn’t sound convinced and continues to ponder Charles for a while longer, puffing on his cigar. Erik feels a pang of jealousy at the easy familiarity the two of them seem to have.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it then. See you around, Charles,” Logan finally says before walking off.

Still irked, Erik grabs onto the first thing that comes to his mind. “Who’s Beast?”

“What?” Charles asks, apparently a million miles away. “Oh, Hank. Hank McCoy.”

“That lab nerd with the dorky glasses?”

Charles chuckles. “Don’t let Hank hear you say that.”

“I didn’t know he was one of us.”

“He likes to keep it quiet.”

“What’s his mutation?”

Charles smirk grows wider, and Erik gets the distinct impression that he’s being laughed at. “Let’s just say that Hank is… _fiercer_ than he looks.”

Erik is about to dig deeper, but that’s when Charles’ attention is suddenly drawn to the TV screen above the counter. Erik’s heart sinks as he realizes what the program is about.

 _SCENES OF TERROR IN FLATBUSH, BROOKLYN_ , the caption reads under a shot of the burning assembly hall. _MUTANT RETALIATORY STRIKE CLAIMS FOURTEEN HUMAN LIVES._

“Turn that up!” Charles yells at the waitress behind the counter, who hastily complies.

More footage from last night flickers across the screen. The street is packed with police cars and ambulances, people are scampering in and out of the frame, and bodies are being wheeled out of the assembly hall on gurneys. It’s pandemonium.

The camera centers on a man in his mid-fifties, whose forehead is heavily bandaged. The caption reveals him to be the owner of a shop right next to the scene of the attack.

“It came out of nowhere,” the man recounts in a shaking voice. “I was with a costumer when I heard the wind – a storm, mind you, a proper tornado, but there hadn’t been any warning. And then the building across the street caught fire and crashed in on itself, just like that. I could hear people shouting and screaming. It was like a war zone.”

The camera cuts to the anchorwoman present at the scene. “Eye-witnesses report to have seen three to five men standing opposite the Church of Humanity’s meeting place just before the incident, none of which have yet been identified. Meanwhile, a radical mutant organization calling itself the Hellfire Club has claimed responsibility for the attack – making it clear beyond the shadow of a doubt that this brutal act of violence was in response to the mugging of the mutant Armando Muñoz earlier this week.”

Erik raises his eyebrows in surprise. This is the first time that Shaw has allowed the Hellfire Club’s name to become public knowledge. He must be upping his game.

Charles’ face is whiter than it has been all morning. He stares at the TV screen as if frozen in shock, his mouth slightly agape. 

“I can’t believe this,” he breathes. “Who are they?”

Erik shrugs, feigning ignorance. “Probably just some hotheads eager for attention.”

Charles barely seems to be listening. His eyes are still glued to the TV screen, where the anchorwoman is now interviewing an advisor to the Department of Homeland Security, who talks at length about the possibility of mutant terrorist sleeper cells across the country.

It’s a strange experience for Erik, listening to the report from the outside in. It feels different than having been there in person, somehow simultaneously more and less real.

The worst of it is witnessing Charles’ reaction, though. He seems much more distressed by the news than Erik would have imagined.

“With a dozen casualties still being treated in nearby hospitals,” the anchorwoman concludes, “one has to wonder if the terrorists will be satisfied with the mayhem they’ve caused – or if this is just the beginning of something much bigger.”

Charles buries his face in his hands. “I can’t believe this. This is the worst that could have happened.”

“How so?” Erik asks before he can stop himself.

Charles gapes at him. “Are you serious? Fourteen people are _dead_ , Erik! If there was a vote on the Mutant Registration Act today, it would pass in a heartbeat, and I couldn’t even blame the humans. This Hellfire Club just set the mutant agenda back _months_.”

“Perhaps they thought it would teach the humans a lesson. Give them a glimpse of our power, show them that they are right to fear us. A preemptive strike to crush all further attempts at controlling us.”

Charles looks at Erik through narrowed eyes. With a twinge of anticipation, Erik watches him putting the pieces together.

“You were there, weren’t you?” Charles says breathlessly. “In Flatbush. You were one of the mutants who attacked the building.”

Erik doesn’t reply. His silence speaks for itself.

Charles looks at Erik as though he’s never seen him before. His voice is shaking so badly now that he can barely get the words out.  “How could you do that?”

Erik swallows. Charles’ revulsion is harder for him to stomach than he cares to admit.

“Fourteen people have died, Erik. Two are still in critical condition!”

“ _Humans_.”

“What difference does it make?!”

“It makes _every_ difference! It’s us or them, Charles, and the sooner you realize that, the sooner –”

“They were _people_ , Erik!” Charles cuts him off. “They had families, friends, _lives_!”

“They needed to be put in their place!”

It’s only then when Erik realizes that they are yelling at each other across the table. His own hands have clenched into fists and there are angry blotches on Charles’ cheeks.

The conversations around them have come to a halt. The other diners have turned their heads and are openly staring at them.

Charles notices the silence at the same time Erik does. All at once, he seems to deflate like a popped balloon, and pinches the bridge of his nose with a trembling hand.

“I can’t deal with this right now.”

“Charles, we need to –”

“I have to go.”

Before Erik can get in a word of protest, Charles has pushed back his chair with a screech and is heading for the door.

For a moment, Erik is inclined to follow him. Anger is still boiling in his gut, but much more pronounced is the sliver of panic underneath. Has he pushed Charles too far? Will this be their breaking point? Are they over before they’ve really begun?

Before Erik can make up his mind what to do, Charles has disappeared.

The low murmurings at the nearby tables start to pick up again. Gathering his bearings, Erik signals the waitress and pays for their meal. It sits heavily in his stomach all the way back to the hotel.


	4. Too in Love to Let it Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long - but rest assured that chapters _will_ keep coming!
> 
> There's a trigger warning in the end notes for those of you who like to be forewarned. 
> 
> Many thanks again to [JayEz](http://archiveofourown.org/users/JayEz/pseuds/JayEz) for her continuing support and beta work!

Erik doesn’t hear from Charles for a solid week. He calls every day to begin with, but Charles is either unavailable or refuses to answer the phone, and he never calls back.

Erik does get to see him though, but the occasion is more than a little unexpected. One day, he is lounging in Shaw’s penthouse with Azazel and Angel, who seems to enjoy her time at the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters more than Erik would have thought possible. She had always been a rather quiet girl, but a couple of days ago, Erik actually overheard her recounting one of her lessons to Pyro in glorious detail.

“You have _got_ to see this!” Janos heralds out of the blue as he saunters into the room, garnering their attention, and turns on the flatscreen on the wall. Erik’s heart skips a beat as Charles’ face appears on the monitor, his eyes looking directly into the camera as he speaks.

Janos slides into the seat next to Erik. “Xavier is organizing some kind of _building bridges_ event,” he says, his upper lip curled in disdain. “He says it’s ‘in response to the recent surge of violence from certain factions within the mutant population’.”

Azazel scoffs, throwing a sideways glance at Erik, which Erik pointedly ignores.

“We are currently preparing for an open day at the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters,” the Charles on the TV screen announces. “Everyone will be welcome, humans and mutants alike. It is our hope that this event will further our mutual understanding and prevent incidents like the one in Flatbush from ever happening again.”

“That’s enough to make me want to puke,” Emma says dramatically, joining them from the other end of the room with Pyro in her wake.

“What a load of sanctimonious bullshit,” Azazel grumbles. “Xavier’s only reason for being pro-mundanes is because he was never spat on in public. If his mutation was visible, he would sing a different tune.”

“He’s nothing but a spoiled rich kid who doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut,” Janos chimes in.

Erik is torn between rising to Charles’ defense and trying to catch his words on the TV screen. He settles on the latter.

“The Secretary for the Department of Mutant Affairs has already agreed to speak at the event,” Charles is saying, “as has the Deputy Secretary for the Department of Homeland Security. With these two keynote speakers we hope to draw much-needed attention to the fact that there’s more than just radical mutant groups out there – quite the opposite, actually. The majority of mutants wish to peacefully coexist with their human kin. It’s time the public was reminded of that fact.”

“I hope he’s better in bed than he is in front of the camera,” Emma says, throwing Erik a suggestive glance. “He looks like he hasn’t slept in a week.”

He does indeed, Erik realizes. There are dark shadows under Charles’ eyes that even the stage makeup can’t hide, and the ever-present sparkle in his eyes is missing. When the camera pans out and shows Charles sitting at a table facing Bob Schieffer, the news show host, he notices a tension in his spine that certainly wasn’t there in any of his former TV appearances. Charles usually looks perfectly at ease in front of the camera, a trait Erik has often envied.

“Meanwhile, new information has come to light that the so-called Hellfire Club has actually been around for years, plotting behind the scenes,” Schieffer says. “Is there anything you can add to ease the public’s concerns, Professor Xavier?”

Charles sits up straighter. “Only that I deeply condemn the Hellfire Club’s actions, as does the better part of the mutant population in this country. We are not the enemy. If we stand together, we can cut off this unfortunate development at the root and unite our efforts to create a future where humans and mutants will be living side by side. I firmly belief that –”

“ _Turn that off_!” a harsh voice resonates through the room. Pyro flinches violently in the seat he has taken next to Janos, as does Angel, but if any of the others have been startled, they don’t let it show. Erik uses his powers to switch off the television, and silence ensues.

Shaw’s mouth forms a thin line as he continues to stare at the empty screen. None of them dares to speak up. They all know what Shaw can get like when he is in one of his moods.

After a few minutes of silence, the tension in Shaw’s shoulders visibly eases and he turns to face them, huffing out a laugh. “Some people never learn.”

“Maybe it’s time we teach Xavier a lesson,” Janos chimes in, the first to recover.

“I could kill him for you,” Pyro offers, practically bouncing in his seat now that the awkwardness seems to have passed. “It would be my pleasure, Mr. Shaw.”

Shaw’s smile widens. “Never underestimate your enemy, son. Xavier is a powerful telepath.”

“Even if he is, he’s too morally uptight to use his powers,” Azazel adds. “I mean, have we ever even seen him in action?”

Emma crosses her arms, lifting her chin. “I sensed his powers when we met at the charity gala. He’s holding himself back. There’s no way of knowing what he’s capable of.”

“Erik should be able to tell us,” Janos says, glaring at Erik. “Has Xavier ever been inside your mind?”

“He couldn’t have,” Erik says. “Emma taught me well.” Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Emma smiling smugly.

“So you’re certain he doesn’t know about us?” Azazel asks, his black eyebrows almost touching in a frown.

“If he did, he’d already have told the human police where to find us,” Janos says. “He’s such a do-gooder.”

Erik takes care not to give his thoughts away. He hasn’t mentioned Charles guessing about his involvement in the Flatbush attack. He knows he should have – it has the potential to put the entire organization at risk, after all – yet he can’t bring himself to do it. There’s no telling how the others would react.

“Charles is no threat to our cause,” Erik states as firmly as he can make it. He senses Shaw’s eyes on him and meets his gaze, careful not to look away under the scrutiny.

After a few moments, Shaw seems to be satisfied with what he has found. He grins and claps his hands. “Well then, back to work. There’s the fundraiser next week we have to prepare for. It had better go off without a hitch.”

“Wait!” Janos calls out. “What about Xavier? Are we just going to let him get away with this?” He gestures at the empty TV screen.

Shaw tuts, his eyes becoming slits as he focusses them on Janos. “Patience, my friend. If Erik says there’s nothing to worry about, why should we bother?”

“So we’re just going to sit by and allow Xavier to go through with his bullshit event, блять?” Azazel asks indignantly.

Shaw’s smirk widens once more, showing a glint of teeth. “Oh no, much better than that.” He takes them all in before he continues. “We’re going to attend.”

*~*~*

Erik grabs the first opportunity to slip out of the penthouse unnoticed. He can’t pinpoint exactly why, but Shaw’s plan to attend the open day at Charles’ school has left him unsettled, as though there was some kind of storm gathering at the corners of his vision, threatening the tender remains of his relationship with Charles. The urge to act has grown tenfold. To hell with phone calls, Erik is going to drive up to the mansion and rattle at the door until Charles will finally agree to speak to him.

He’s still deep in thought when he passes the gates to the property, playing out various scenarios in his head what to say to Charles. The driveway bends sharply after a grove of maples, which is where Erik almost crashes into a vintage Buick that appears out of nowhere from the opposite direction. There’s an angry honk when Erik hits the breaks, realizing a second later that it’s actually Logan he almost ran over.

“Watch where you’re going, bub!” Logan chides him through the open window before speeding up and disappearing around the bend.

Erik monitors the Buick in the rearview mirror, feeling that same pang of jealousy again as he did at the diner. Charles never mentioned Logan visiting him at the school before.

Well, at least he knows that Charles has to be at home right now.

The telepath is actually standing outside the front doors, still as a statue and not even raising an eyebrow when Erik drives up and parks the car. _He must have sensed me coming_ , Erik realizes, wondering with a hint of amazement just how far Charles’ reach actually extends.

Erik takes a deep breath to brace himself, and gets out of the car. Charles watches him approach, hands buried deeply in the pockets of his pants.

Erik stops a few feet in front of him. Up close, Charles looks even more haggard than he has on TV, like there’s a weight on his shoulders pressing him down. His face, for once, is entirely unreadable.

For what seems like minutes, they size each other up, each waiting for the other to start. Erik’s mind is a blank; he can’t even recall why he came here in the first place. All he can see is Charles, flashes of their nights together chasing each other in his head.

“I tried calling you,” Erik finally says in an attempt to banish the images.

Charles gives a small nod. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you back. I just… I needed some time to think.”

There’s an awkward pause during which Erik digs the toe of his boot into the gravel, unable to hold the eye contact.

“I saw you on TV. Talking about the open day you’re planning.”

“Well, I had to do _something_ ,” Charles says, traces of the anger from their last encounter sneaking back into his voice.

Erik is at a loss what to say. He vaguely remembers intending to warn Charles about Shaw, but now that he has Charles actually standing there, words fail him. All he can think of is the revulsion on Charles’ face when he found out about Erik being involved in the Flatbush attack. It’s like an ever-widening gulf has opened up between them − a gulf Erik has no idea how to span.

“Why are you here, Erik?” Charles asks, letting out a heavy sigh.

Erik gives a half-shrug. “To talk.”

“Okay. Then talk.”

Erik swallows. Where should he even begin?

“We said we wouldn’t let politics interfere with what’s between us.”

Charles heaves another sigh, shoving his hands even deeper into the pockets of his pants. “Maybe we were both a little naïve when we decided on that.”

“What do you mean?”

Charles’ voice softens to a whisper. “I’m not sure I can do this anymore, Erik. I thought I could handle it, but this…” He gestures at the empty air between them.

Erik has to clench his jaw so tight that he almost doesn’t get the next words out. “You knew who I was from the start. I never made a secret out of it.”

“I know. And I’m sorry.” Charles looks it, too.

Erik grits his teeth against the wave of emotion threatening to pull him under. “So that’s it then? We hit a snag and you’re just gonna give up?”

“This is more than just a snag, Erik.”

“I can’t change who I am.”

“Neither can I.”

“So where does this leave us?”

But he already knows, doesn’t he? He can see it in the taut lines of Charles’ body, can read it in his unrelenting gaze. The trenches are drawn and they are facing each other from opposite ends of a battle field, neither of them giving an inch.

Erik turns on his heels and walks to the car, careful not to look back as he drives off.

If his eyes are a little red when he arrives back at the penthouse, none of the others mentions it to him.

*~*~*

_Two months later_

“Nice digs,” Pyro comments as they catch their first glimpse of the Xavier mansion. “Seriously, it’s like Hogwarts or something!”

“Only without the moving staircases or talking paintings,” Angel says, grinning.

Janos remains silent, but Erik can practically feel the effort it takes him to hide his appreciation.

“Xavier doesn’t seem to care much about security,” Azazel says gruffly. “No guards at the gates, no enforced perimeter… It’s as if he wants his school to be raided.”

“Not everybody is as paranoid as you are,” Emma chides, then curses abruptly when one of her heels catches in the gravel of the driveway.

Even from this distance, they can hear the chatter of hundreds of people milling about the grounds. They look like painted dots on a canvas: the women in their summer dresses, the men in somewhat more subdued attire, and in-between the colorful outlines of dozens of mutants.

Several huge party tents are spread across the lawn, providing shade and refreshments. The array of chairs lakeside have mostly been foregone, as many of the guests chose to just plop down on the warm grass with their snacks and beverages.

Erik lets his gaze wander over the water glistening in the sun. He remembers a morning not too long ago when he challenged Charles to a dive in the lake. It was early spring and there was still a chill in the air, but Charles didn’t need to be told twice and raced Erik to the shore. The water was freezing and they were both shaking when they emerged, huddling together for warmth as they hurried back up to the house. The sex later that day had been spectacular.

Erik is brought back to the present by Pyro, who is a bundle of nervous energy beside him, Zippo clicking maddeningly in his hand. It would be the easiest thing in the world to meld that annoying gadget into a clump of metal, and Erik has to muster up all the restraint he’s got not to give in to the temptation.

They reach the fringe of the crowd, where Shaw is immediately recognized by a bunch of reporters and puts on a sickeningly suave smile for the camera. The rest of them scatter: Angel has spotted a friend of hers from school and drags Pyro along with her, while Emma is immediately beleaguered by half the men in the immediate vicinity. Janos mumbles something unintelligible and sets off in the direction of the buffet.

Strolling through the throng of people with a silent Azazel by his side, Erik realizes that he knows a substantial number of the guests from various TV appearances, including, to his surprise, Senator Kelly, Shaw's biggest rival in the run for senate. Kelly looks distinctly uncomfortable amidst the quantity of mutants present and holds onto his champagne flute like a life line.

Without meaning to, Erik finds himself scanning the crowd for a familiar figure. He knows that Charles has to be around here somewhere, shaking hands, maybe laughing at some joke or other, his eyes sparkling…

A rather forceful elbow in the ribs draws his attention back to Azazel, who’s pointing at someone a little further away. “What have we got there?”

Erik follows his gaze and immediately recognizes the blue-skinned beauty from the charity gala Charles told him was his sister.

“Ух ты!” Azazel exclaims, sounding awestruck. He’s hardly able to take his eyes off her. 

Erik chuckles. “Why don’t you go over and talk to her? She looks like she could use the company.”

Even here, surrounded by so many of her kin, Raven seems somehow isolated in her uniqueness. Erik watches her eye the humans around her with wariness and something akin to disgust. A woman after his own heart. No wonder she and Charles had a falling-out.

The sudden sound of drums playing a snappy rhythm makes Erik search for the source of the instrument, which he locates on a stage that has been set up right in front of the mansion. One of Charles’ youngest teachers, the curly-haired Irish boy, is working the sticks as if his life depended on it.

The crowd grows silent as more and more people turn to the stage to see what’s going on. There’s a podium in the center that’s still unoccupied and to the left of it, a beefy boy with an electric guitar around his neck now accompanies the drummer in a rocking tune. Before long they are joined by yet another guitarist, as well as a black-haired girl who conjures up a microphone and starts singing in a surprisingly husky voice.

Polite applause follows the performance, and when the band bows out, Erik’s heart does a double-take: Charles has just mounted the stage from the side followed by a huge blue-furred mutant Erik has never seen before.

“Looks like Xavier got himself a bodyguard,” Azazel comments, appraising the mutant through narrowed eyes.

Erik is barely listening. His gaze is glued to the figure now taking his place behind the podium. Charles wears his hair a little longer than he used to, but the smile with which he greets the audience is still a thousand watts worth. He seems to have lost some weight, for the cut of his suit – a silver grey that brings out the color of his eyes – sags a little at the shoulders.

“Who do you think that is?” Azazel asks, his attention still fixed on the mutant now taking a seat to the right behind Charles.

“No idea,” Erik says, more than a little distracted. “I’ve never seen him before.”

Charles, meanwhile, waves at the musicians who are now exiting the stage. “Marvelous, aren’t they?” he says into the microphone. “They’re called _The Wailing Wackos_.”

There’s laughter from the audience and Charles waits it out before continuing.

“They are, in fact, a perfect example of what today is all about. Half the band members are human.” Charles throws them a challenging look. “Three guesses who.”

He lets a few seconds pass, allowing the puzzle to sink in. “You can’t tell, can you? That’s because our differences are negligible compared to what we have in common. Humans and mutants share over 99 percent of their DNA. It makes no sense to want to separate us. We share this planet. It belongs to all of us, mutants and humans alike.”

Charles takes a moment to wipe the sweat off his brow.

“Some of us may have an extra limb or two or grow fur instead of skin.” He winks at the blue mutant sitting behind him. “But that doesn’t change the fact that we belong together. Diversity has always been a basic characteristic of human society. It was Ghandi who said, _No two leaves are alike, and yet there is no antagonism between them or between the branches on which they grow_.”

Charles clears his throat, letting his gaze sweep over the crowd. “We all know why we’re here today. Two months ago, a radical fraction within the mutant population attacked the meeting point of a known human separatist organization, killing fourteen innocent people.”

Erik shares a quick glance with Azazel, who raises an eyebrow in response.

“Our hearts go out to the families of these victims. But it’s not enough to simply show our sympathy. Today is about taking a stand. It’s about showing the world that violence can never be the answer. There is another way. Diversity, as they say, is the art of thinking independently together. That’s where we need to go – humans and mutants complementing each other, building a better future together. Unique, but equal!”

The crowd breaks into applause and the occasional cheer. Erik, however, notices that quite a few people around him haven’t joined in, but are observing Charles with frowns on their faces.

It makes the hair at the back of Erik’s neck stand up. Does Charles even realize how much opposition from both humans and mutants his ideology is met with?

While Charles proceeds to introduce the speakers for the day, Erik lets his gaze wander. How many of the attendants truly support Charles and his goals, and how many have shown up for other reasons entirely? Azazel was right. Charles is insane for opening up the school to everyone who’s game. It’s like giving his enemies a carte blanche to attack.

It shouldn’t surprise Erik as much as it does when he spots Shaw standing just below the stage, his eyes fixed on Charles like a hunter honing in on his prey. The queasy feeling in Erik’s stomach intensifies. Shaw hasn’t let anyone in on his plans for today. As far as the Brotherhood is concerned, they are just here to make an appearance as a gesture of goodwill. But what if Shaw has something else in store for Charles?

The crowd around him claps again, making Erik realize that Charles has reached the end of his speech. The Secretary for the Department of Mutant Affairs, a bony woman whom Erik knows to be a telekinetic, has just arrived on stage and shakes hands with Charles. He beams at her, relinquishing his spot behind the podium before climbing down the stairs, followed by his blue hunk of a bodyguard.

Erik tunes out the Secretary’s speech as he elbows his way to the place where Charles has disappeared. He can’t even say what he’s hoping to accomplish; Charles has made it abundantly clear that he doesn’t want anything to do with him anymore. Yet Erik can’t shake the urge to get close to Charles, to make sure that he’s safe.

Erik discovers his quarry much sooner than he anticipated. Charles is standing in front of one of the catering tents, pointing out a tray of shrimps to his companion while nibbling on a canapé.

“Charles,” Erik addresses him from behind before he has the chance to talk himself out of it.

Charles whips around, his eyes going wide, and nearly drops his glass. “Erik! I didn’t expect you here.”

Erik swallows against the sudden dryness in his throat. “I’m here with Shaw.”

Charles face darkens. “Right. Of course.” He drops his gaze, and Erik curses himself for bringing up this sore topic only two seconds into the conversation.

Charles, meanwhile, is clearly struggling for something uncontentious to say.

“You’ve met Hank, I believe?” he finally asks, gesturing at the blue mutant looming over his shoulder.

“Hank – I’m sorry, who?”

Charles gives a nervous laugh. “Oh no, you haven’t, have you? At least, not in his true form. Erik, this is Dr. Hank McCoy.”

Erik looks up into the furry face and shakes the man’s hand, wincing at the strengths in those paws. Then it dawns on him.

“You’re Beast.”

Hank nods, baring his fangs – an unmistakable warning. Erik can feel his hackles rise.

“So how have you been?” Charles asks, unaware of the exchange.

Erik clears his throat. “Good. How are you?”

“Fine, fine. Busy with the event. The last weeks have been crazy.”

That explains the weight loss then, and the pallor of Charles’ skin, which Erik only notices now that he’s up close.

Charles takes a sip of his champagne, finally meeting Erik’s gaze over the rim of his glass. Their eyes lock and Erik’s pulse quickens. He can feel heat spread through his body that has nothing to do with the summer sun.

When Charles puts down the glass, his lips are glistening with moisture. Erik has the sudden desire to reach over. He can still remember what those lips taste like, how it feels to have Charles tongue curled around his own. 

An unexpected lump in his throat throws Erik off-balance. He spent the last two months buried in work and the anger that has become like a second skin to him, refusing to allow himself to feel anything else. But now that he has Charles standing here, close enough to touch, everything comes back in a rush: the good times they shared, the laughter, the intimacy…and with it a wave of sadness so strong Erik feels like breaking down weeping.

What the fuck is he even doing here?

Erik averts his eyes, desperately searching for an excuse to make a quick exit, when Charles suddenly winces. He presses a hand to his stomach, dropping the half-eaten canapé in the process.

Erik frowns at him. “What’s wrong?”

Charles shakes his head, setting down his glass with trembling fingers, and clutches the edge of the buffet table for support. “Nothing, just a cramp. Those canapés don’t seem to agree with me.”

He takes a shaky breath and slowly straightens again, his face still screwed up in pain. Beast is studying him worriedly, now looking more like the gangly scientist he appears as in his human form.

“Do you need to lie down?”

“No, thanks, Hank, I’m quite alright. But I do need to make sure the raffle is going as planned. Excuse me.” He smiles at Erik, a mixture of pain and regret in his eyes that Erik isn’t sure how to interpret. “It was nice seeing you.”

Erik gives a curt nod and watches Charles pat Beast’s arm in goodbye before slowly making his way over to the tombola tent.

The band starts playing again, but Erik isn’t really listening. His mind is on Charles and his parting gaze. Barring the fact that he’s still the worst liar in the universe – _nothing wrong my ass_ – it makes Erik wonder. Is he imagining things or is Charles just as conflicted about their break-up as he himself is? Is it possible there might be a future for them after all? Has Erik given up on them too soon?

He lets out a shaky breath. Dammit, he has to get a grip on himself. Hope is a dangerous thing to have − he learned that lesson early in life. Breaking up with Charles once was painful enough. He has no need for a repeat performance.

Erik drifts through the crowd, unsure what to do with himself. A few feet away, he spots Shaw talking to Angel and her friend from school. The girl has a very odd mutation: she seems to blend into her respective background. Right now, she’s almost completely white against the catering tent, like some sort of two-legged chameleon.

Azazel has apparently plucked up the courage to talk to Raven and is sitting next to her on a patch of grass by the lake. They are deep in conversation, unaware that Beast is lingering nearby, scowling at them both.

Another speech is starting, this one held by the Deputy Secretary for the Department of Homeland Security. He goes on about the additional security measures put in place after the Flatbush attack, which is old news to Erik. He breaks away from the party, wandering along the lake, occasionally flipping stones over the water.

It’s pointless to ponder the possibility of Charles and him getting together again. They still don’t have any common ground. Charles remains an integrationist fool, while Erik…while Erik is still with Shaw.

He sighs and hurls another stone into the water, flushing a duck that screeches in indignation.

When Erik gets back to the party, over an hour has passed, yet his mood hasn’t improved at all. The band is taking a break, leaving the stage empty for the moment. Erik looks around for Azazel, but he and Raven are nowhere to be seen. Only Beast is still prowling the fringe of the crowd, scanning the guests like he means to X-ray them.

Erik’s stomach grumbles and he’s about to help himself to a sandwich or two, when a familiar female voice catches his ear. Moira is standing inside the catering tent, issuing instructions to a couple of members of the service staff. As Erik has no desire to engage with her, he quickly grabs a napkin with his tuna melt and steps outside.

Moira’s voice still carries through the thin fabric of the tent, however. A short time later, she is joined by Beast, who hurries past Erik without sparing him a glance.

“Have you seen Charles?” Erik hears Beast ask inside the tent. “I can’t find him anywhere. Senator Kelly wants to leave and Charles promised to see him off.”

“I haven’t seen him, no,” Moira answers. “Are you sure he’s not still at the tombola tent?”

“I’ve already looked, he’s not there. Charles wouldn’t miss thanking Senator Kelly in person.” Beast heaves an audible sigh. “He didn’t seem well earlier.”

“I’ll help you search. You cover the lakeside, I’ll do the tents. Call me if you find him.”

Beast lets out a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Moira.”

Erik dumps the rest of his sandwich, all of a sudden on high alert. Why the hell didn’t he keep an eye on Charles like he intended to? A million things could have gone wrong while he was idling by the lake. What if Shaw –?

He doesn’t dare finish the question. Without thinking twice about it, he hones in on the familiar sensation of Charles’ watch. It’s difficult to make out amidst the interference of hundreds of pieces of jewelry currently on the grounds, but Erik doesn’t allow himself to be deterred.

He almost shouts with glee when he locates the watch, but his elation is short-lived once he realizes that Charles is actually inside the school.

That’s odd. Why would he have left his own party?

For a second, Erik considers letting Moira or Beast in on Charles’ whereabouts, but then he shrugs it off and makes his way up to the mansion’s main entrance on his own. Once there, he finds the door unlocked and steps into the hall with its stuffy smell of old wood and fabric.

Erik’s senses tell him that Charles is behind the second door to the right, which turns out to be a bathroom. As there are facilities aplenty outside on the grounds, it still doesn’t explain why Charles felt the need to leave his guests.

As soon as he opens the door, Erik hears a sound from within that cuts him to the bone: an anguished groan, followed by a whimper.

“Charles?”

Erik rushes inside, taking in the urinals to the right, the stalls to the left – there. A black shoe is peeking out from one of the stalls. The door is only partly closed, and when Erik pushes it wider he can see Charles cowering on the floor, his suit in disarray, holding onto the toilet bowl as if for dear life. He’s shaking and covered in sweat. The stall smells faintly of vomit.

“Charles?” Erik asks again, taking a step inside and crouching down next to the toilet. Charles doesn’t seem to have heard him, for he starts when Erik touches his arm.

“Erik?” he breathes, looking at him through glassy eyes.

Erik nods, his throat too constricted to speak. He presses a palm to Charles’ forehead, wincing at the unnatural heat there. Charles lets his head droop against his hand with a sigh.

“Shit, Charles, you have a fever. Are you feeling sick? Is it your stomach?”

There’s no answer. Charles seems to be balancing on the edge of consciousness, his gaze hazy and unfocused.  

Erik curses, his mind going a mile a minute. There’s no time to go outside for help – Charles is fading fast and Erik is unwilling to leave him alone in this state. Besides, no one at the party would be able to provide the help Charles needs right now. That leaves only one option.

Erik pulls out his cell phone, reluctantly dislodging his hand from Charles’ forehead, and dials 911. Charles sways dangerously until Erik shifts to prop him up against his chest.

“North Salem Nine-One-One, where is your emergency?”

“I’m inside the Xavier mansion – the mutant school. 1407 Graymalkin Lane,” Erik rattles off the address. “I need an ambulance. My friend has collapsed.”

“Can I have your name, please?”

“Erik Lehnsherr.”

“Is your friend responsive? Can he tell you what’s wrong?”

“I think it’s his stomach. He keeps holding it. And he has a fever –”

Charles chooses that moment to start dry-heaving, his whole body racked with spasms, which Erik can feel reverberating through the thin layers of cloth between them.

“Hurry!” Erik yells into the phone. “We’re in the ground floor bathroom.”

The dispatcher asks him a few more questions, which Erik answers best he can. Then he puts her on hold, needing both hands to support Charles, who is now bent almost double, retching into the toilet bowl.

“You’ll be okay, Charles, help is on the way,” Erik says in what he hopes is a soothing voice, though on the inside, he’s shaking just as badly as Charles is. He rubs Charles’ back, the gesture meant to comfort himself as much as the other man. “You’re alright, it’s gonna be fine.”

Another violent retch has Charles sobbing, but then the spasms seem to be slowly subsiding. After a few more agonizing minutes, Charles sinks back into Erik’s embrace with a groan, his face now wet with tears.

Erik stopped believing in God a long time ago. He certainly hasn’t prayed since before his mother was killed, but right now, he finds himself wishing for someone, _anyone_ , to stop Charles hurting as much as he does. There’s nothing Erik can do to help except hold him and stroke his hair, whispering meaningless phrases in his ear while Charles writhes in his arms.

It seems to take forever before Erik can finally make out the sound of a siren in the distance. Charles’ hasn’t been responsive for a while now and the trembling has ceased. The stillness is almost worse to bear than the earlier spasms. It makes Charles seem frighteningly lifeless.

As soon as Erik hears movement in the entrance hall, he shouts, “We’re in here!” at the top of his voice. There are footsteps and the sound of a door opening. Erik’s whole body sags with relief when the EMTs come into view, a pudgy man in his forties and a younger woman with her hair pulled back in a ponytail.

“I think he’s passed out,” Erik tells them, reluctantly relinquishing his hold on Charles to make room.

“We’ve got him,” the man says, checking Charles’ airway with swift and efficient movements. “You said he was clutching his stomach?”

“Yes,” Erik answers, when a thought hits him. “Oh, and he’s HIV positive.” The EMTs should probably know.

The man nods in understanding and briefly coordinates with his colleague, who hands him an arrangement of tubes and a breathing mask.

Erik gets up, wincing at the pins and needles in his legs, and steps out of the stall. He’s so wrapped up in his anxious perusal of Charles that he doesn’t notice Moira until she’s practically shouting in his face.

“What happened?!” she asks, probably not for the first time, for she looks ready to tear him a new one.

“I found him like this,” Erik says, his voice oddly unsteady. “I don’t know how…”

The EMTs are getting ready to hoist Charles onto a gurney, which is when Erik becomes aware that Hank is lingering in the doorway, now in his human form.  

“Are you taking him to Westchester Medical?” he asks, white-faced yet composed. “They have all his data.”

The woman answers in the affirmative and before long, the EMTs are carrying Charles outside, leaving Erik, Moira, and Hank to trail in their wake.

Erik has to shield his eyes against the glaring sun once he steps back onto the grounds. There’s a mob of bystanders gathered around the ambulance like some twisted guard of honor, craning their necks to get a glimpse of what’s going on. A few of the reporters Erik saw earlier are holding their cameras aloft, recording Charles as the gurney is heaved into the back of the ambulance.

Erik only realizes what he’s doing when the male EMT bars his way, stopping him with a hand against his chest.

“I’m sorry, sir, but you can’t come with.”

Erik stares at Charles’ immobile form, the breathing mask covering his mouth and the IV-line hooked into his arm, and takes another step forward.

“Please, I need to –“

“Erik!” Hank calls out from behind, restraining him with a firm hand on his shoulder. “Moira’s got it covered.”

Moira is indeed climbing into the ambulance just now to sit beside Charles, taking his hand before giving Hank a parting wave. Then the doors fall shut and Erik is left staring at the retreating taillights of the ambulance, feeling as if the ground just fell out from underneath his feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TW:** vomiting
> 
> Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Comments make me write faster. :)


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